


Phantom Limb

by MaxWrite



Series: Hockey Night in Canada and Everything After [3]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Mission: Impossible (Movies) RPF, Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol RPF, Mission: Impossible RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Foot Massage, Frottage, M/M, RPF, Religious Content, Rimming, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 64,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serious relationship questions arise when Simon comes to stay with Tom while looking for a place to rent in L.A.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is, unfortunately, a WIP. I don't like posting WIPs. I don't like the uncertainty of it. I normally write multiple fics within a series, sure, but each fic is its own self-contained story; the story might continue on into future fics, but it wasn't planned that way because I'm writing _fics_ , not _chapters_. I just sort of write what I'm inspired to write at any given time, and if that means extending a single fic into a series of fics, so be it. It's like my safety net; if I run out of stuff to write, it's okay because I wasn't planning to continue, anyway.
> 
> But with a true WIP, which this is, I'm posting chapter by chapter and that's daunting for me, as I'm sure it is for you to start reading before everything's posted. I will say that I do have the fic pretty much written already. The only reason I'm not posting the whole thing now is because I'm kind of iffy about the direction it's gone in. So, I want to post what I'm sure of now and work on the rest.
> 
> That's all I have to say about that.
> 
> In closing: [Simon teaches Tom to speak like Michael Caine](http://youtu.be/pxO492E0i4Y). They're just so adorable together, it's crazy.

It is mostly cloudy in Los Angeles. Nonetheless, Simon has his newsboy cap pulled down low as he goes from his car to the front door of the house he'll be staying in for the next week. He can pretty much blend in anywhere, sometimes even in L.A., but he's being extra careful today. Because it is Tom Cruise's house he'll be staying in. And he is Tom Cruise's boyfriend.

He is perfectly aware of how ridiculous that sounds.

With both his suitcase's handle and his dog's leash in his left hand, he fumbles for the key Tom gave him with his right. Once inside the house, he sets his suitcase upright and unleashes Minnie who immediately trots away to smell all the new things.

"Tom?" he calls as he moves through the house. Tom warned that he probably wouldn't be home when Simon arrived, but Simon checks anyway, poking his head into the kitchen and living room and sending his voice up the stairs to see if anyone answers. When he gets to the second living room, the one that's never used for any actual living and whose only purpose seems to be looking nice, he spots a couple dozen cream-colored tulips in a crystal vase on the coffee table. Minnie rejoins him as he approaches the bouquet.

It is for Simon. The little card he finds amidst the delicate off-white petals reads:

> _"BRB, gorgeous. Make yourself at home – Love, Tom"_

"I really have to wonder whose life I'm living," Simon says. Minnie merely blinks her black eyes up at him and pants. "That's your answer for everything."

Simon isn't accustomed to this level of romanticism. He's a romantic of a kind, but this – the flowers and the cards and the gifts with big, red bows – feels like something out of a movie, and not the sort he'd ever be asked to star in. It feels a bit fake.

But it isn't fake. It's Tom. Tom is larger than life. He is true Hollywood. He is Prince Charming. To try and stifle that would be like trying to stop a waterfall with your bare hands.

Simon frowns at the flowers. They bother him. It's more than just the fact they're a bit cliche, but he can't work out what it is. They're beautiful otherwise. They should make him happy, but they're only making his brow furrow.

With a shrug, he gives them a sniff, because that's what you do with flowers, and then goes back to his suitcase to retrieve some of Minnie's things. He rinses and fills her water dish and sets it down in an out-of-the-way corner of the spacious kitchen. He leaves a few of her toys lying nearby, then wanders off, going nowhere in particular. He's been here before, of course, but he isn't often here without Tom. He takes the opportunity to explore, feel the place, see how it fits around him without Tom there to make it feel right.

It's a lovely house, all hardwood and white and cream. It is elegant and beautiful and perfect. It is Tom. Simon wonders if it's _him_ , though. Simon. Himself.

He wanders, standing in rooms as though trying them on for size. He sits. He stands. He moves from window to window. He lingers in big archways, feeling small and out of place.

It still feels like someone else's home no matter how many times he's been here during the past few months, no matter how many times he's slept in the big bed in the master bedroom or showered in the bathroom or had to clean his beard out of the sink. Maybe having Minnie here will help. She's never been here before. Since Simon's been seeing Tom, he hasn't had a reason to subject Minnie to the fifteen-hour flight from London. He technically didn't have a reason this time, but he had to bring her, such was the guilt of leaving her behind again. Perhaps having her little doggie tail wiggling through the halls and her bark ringing through the house at every bird or squirrel that flits by a window will help him settle in.

He doesn't even know why he's thinking about all this. He doesn't intend to move in, no matter how many months he'll be staying in the city. He's in L.A. for work and needs to find a place, but that place can't be this place. Simon Pegg cannot live with Tom Cruise. Tom has suggested it, of course, and will again because he's a persistent bugger with a whimsical side he has trouble taming.

Simon stops briefly at the little girl's room, but doesn't go in, and not just because all the pink kind of hurts his eyes. Even five-year-olds need privacy, and besides, Tom's daughter is a whole other issue, one that complicates Simon's situation tenfold. The last thing he wants is to create instability in the child's life. He decides to avoid thinking about it for now and moves on.

He ends his tour in the master bedroom where his thoughts, which have been wandering as aimlessly as he has, come to a head. He approaches the fourposter bed, grips one of the mahogany posts and just stands there staring at the pristine cream sheets. This bed is a little pocket of perfect. It is warm bodies wrapped lazily around one another, it is morning crosswords and breakfast, it is love letters whispered in the dark, it is the safety to admit to feelings that seem foolish in daylight. Simon has said things in this bed that he wishes he could take back. Because life is complicated enough without being in love with the biggest action star on the planet.

He smiles to himself despite his troubled thoughts. Because regardless of impracticality, it feels good to be in love. Despite the volatility of the situation, despite that it can't possibly be sustained, he wants to stay. This isn't his home. It's Tom's home and always will be. But Simon likes it here even if he feels like a tourist in this city and inside these very walls. Even if there's a part of him that is constantly tugging him back toward home, there's a part of him that lives here now too.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a text:

> _"I have arrived."_

Minutes later, he gets a reply:

> _"Thought you'd be balls-deep in Cruise by now, too busy to text old Nicko."_

> _"Never too busy for you, Sausage."_

> _"What time is it there, early afternoon? Oh, you must be hungry. I probably shouldn't send pics of my supper."_

> _"No. You shouldn't."_

Moments later, a picture of a half-eaten braised lamb shank with mashed potatoes and asparagus is sent to Simon's phone.

Simon replies as his stomach grumbles:

> _"Fuck off."_

Nick sends him a simple emoticon:

> _;P_

Simon replies:

> _"And stop texting at the dinner table!!!"_

> _"All right, Mum."_

The phone goes away, but Simon's smile lingers. Strange how a brief chat with Nick could simultaneously make Simon terribly homesick and give him the boost he'd needed to be able to stay away a bit longer.

* * *

He does his own thing for the next few hours, meets up with a director for a late lunch, during which he is introduced to another film maker who immediately sets up a lunch date for later in the week. If there's one thing L.A. is good for, it's making connections. The next couple of hours fly by for Simon.

Tom checks in via text:

> _"You settled in ok?"_

> _"Yeah, just out on a lunch date, talking shop. What are you doing?"_

> _"Same. I'll be home in time for dinner. I love you."_

> _"Likewise. Careful with the sentiments. I'm in public, anyone could see."_

> _"That's half the fun, gorgeous. ;)"_

> _"Oh. In that case: COCK."_

> _"Aw, baby, that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me."_

Simon returns to the house that evening after a long walk with Minnie to find that the kitchen has now become a lone pocket of light in the otherwise dim house. He unleashes Minnie who is off like a shot as soon as she's free, furry butt wiggling as she hurries to finally match a face to the smell she's been finding on her master after his trips to America. She disappears around the corner and a second later Simon hears excited barking and a soft laughter-filled "hello". Assuming that Minnie has not learned to speak, Simon goes in to greet Tom.

When he steps into the kitchen, Tom is crouched by the island. There is a stunning sunset bleeding pinkish-gold across the sky outside the back door, the perfect backdrop to the magazine ad that is Tom and Minnie. Simon can almost hear the camera shutter sound in his mind at every perfect moment; when Minnie rears up to lick Tom's face, when Tom smiles broadly and laughs at the tickle of her tongue, when he scratches behind her ears and coos at her with that soft gaze and gentle smile, his dimples so deep, Minnie might very well get sucked into one of them by Tom's magnetic pull.

Then Tom looks up at Simon and his smile changes. It is still soft, still insanely beautiful, but something in the eyes shifts, becomes more intimate. He rests a forearm on his knee and just stares, seeming to relax as though something that's been missing from his life is finally back.

"Hey, gorgeous," he says quietly. Minnie is still freaking out about the existence of Tom and his hands and his scent, but she may as well be an image on a television in the background now, because Tom's attention has completely shifted.

"Hi," Simon says a bit meekly and shoves his hands in his pockets. He wonders if he'll ever feel that he lives up to this man. He doesn't think so, but it's okay. Somehow Tom makes it okay.

Tom rises and comes to him. Even in faded jeans and a t-shirt he makes Simon feel under dressed. Simon automatically takes his cap off and tosses it onto the island as Tom takes him in his arms.

"So glad you're here," Tom whispers, then he kisses Simon's mouth, soft and sweet. "Did you find your flowers?"

"I did, yeah. They're lovely. A bit much, though. Feel like I ought to be winning a pageant or, I dunno, dying or something. But thank you."

"You're very welcome."

Tom kisses him again. This time there's more passion behind it, stretching on for several seconds and making Simon weak kneed. Tom makes the last few seconds of the kiss really count; he presses a hand to the back of Simon's head to hold it steady and pushes his tongue in so deep he'd probably feel Simon's tonsils if Simon still had them. This does nothing for Simon's weakness of knee and he grips Tom's shirt for balance, just holding on for the ride as he so often does with Tom.

Tom finally releases Simon's mouth and says, "Missed you."

"Evidently," Simon says breathlessly. "Thought things were about to get x-rated."

"They still might."

"Your daughter eats her animal crackers in here."

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"How is the Munchkin, by the way?"

"Great. She's with her mother this week."

Simon nods. "Any particular reason you tried to eat my uvula just now?"

"It was a kiss hello."

"That was more than just a kiss hello."

Tom gives him a mysterious smile. "Sit." He pulls away and moves around the island to the fridge, from which he retrieves a tall bottle of something Simon can't identify yet. It looks like wine, but Tom knows Simon doesn't drink anymore. Tom grabs a couple of wine glasses anyway and comes back around to where Simon has perched on a stool at the island, upon which Tom's laptop sits.

Tom sets the glasses down and fills them with what Simon can now see is non-alcoholic sparkling cider. He then pulls the laptop close and Simon watches curiously as he brings up a streaming video site and presses 'play' on a video. Tom then sits on his stool next to Simon, picks up his own glass and, looking rather pleased with himself, casually reaches over to grip the low backrest of Simon's chair.

 _"You've worked with Tom Cruise previously,"_ says a female voice, off camera. Simon is sitting there in the video, listening intently. _"Tell me one thing that I would never guess about Tom Cruise."_

Without missing a beat, Simon answers, _"He's really funny."_ And then he giggles. He actually, literally giggles. _"He's a funny guy. I don't think people get that about him, they think he doesn't have a sense of humor, but he really does."_

 _"Did you feel intimidated when he had his shirt off?"_ asks the interviewer.

 _"Yes, always,"_ Simon answers instantly with a little glint in his eye. The interviewer laughs. _"I actually did ask him to put his shirt on at one point. I was like, 'I can't concentrate.'"_ Simon can't help but notice how delicate he looks as he glances off to his right, as though looking away from the shirtless Tom that isn't really there, and holds a hand up to further block his view.

"I take it you haven't shown me this just to prove how incredibly dainty I look on screen," Simon remarks. Tom ignores him and brings up another video.

In this one Simon says something very similar to what he'd said in the first, this time adding "fine figure of a man" to the mix. His words are played over a clip of Tom filming part of the Burj Khalifa stunt. Tom, hanging from a rope, runs across the building's surface and then pushes off, sending himself soaring through the air. His body curves back in an elegant arch as he flies, toes pointed, every muscle engaged. At first, his head points in the direction he's moving, but then he turns in the air, looking like he's tumbling head over heels in beautiful slow motion. He comes to a stop almost as though he's landing on horizontal ground, his toes gently touching down against the building. He's like a fish in water out there, gliding through a sea of clear, blue sky. Or a trapeze artist, all taut muscle, incredible control and grace.

"You're a fucking god, you know that?" Simon says. "Can we watch that again?"

"Mm-mm," Tom replies with a shake of his head. He brings up another video.

 _"Tom is just eternally impressive as a human being,"_ video-Simon says. _"I never get, you know, _not_ excited when I see him. I think with Tom, you know he had this weird little period where there was kind of a… wobble, I dunno why. I think people suddenly decided to have a crack at him to some degree. But, you know, he's Tom Cruise. He's kind of bullet-proof. The important thing about Tom is he genuinely cares that he gives a good product to the audience. That's why he hangs off the tallest building in the world."_

"You were very diplomatic there," Tom says. "That was sweet of you, thank you."

"You know, if you needed an ego boost, you could've just asked me to gush about you to your face," Simon says. "I would've been happy to. You didn't have to go trolling the internet, looking for this stuff."

"Shhh," Tom shushes him and presses 'play' on another video.

 _"Tell us about Tom. What's he like?"_ asks a male interviewer.

 _"Tom's great,"_ video-Simon replies. _"You know, it's very easy and predictable for someone to say that about a fellow cast member, but… I love Tom."_

Simon frowns at the screen. He barely remembers half the things he says in interviews, but what he does say usually sounds at least a little familiar to him later on. This, though, this confession of love comes as a complete shock. It's not that it's untrue in any sense, but it's not something he would have, or should have said. If his love had been platonic, it would be a different story, but his love is not platonic in the slightest and seeing himself admit to it on camera is more than a little disconcerting. Looking into his own eyes as he'd said the words, he'd seen genuine emotion there. It was subtle, not a dopey-eyed infatuation, but a softly shining sort of gleam in the eyes, a little blush on the cheeks. He's fucking glowing.

His video-self seems to come to and tries to compose himself, clears his throat and continues in a more detached manner, but as far as Simon is concerned the damage is done. _"He's brilliant fun. It's a real pleasure to get through that thicket of nonsense that surrounds him. There's a lot said about Tom, a lot written about Tom. It's almost all completely untrue. You meet the man, and he's just a very dedicated, fun guy. And he sets the bar for the other actors. He gives it a hundred percent, never less than a hundred percent. He's an inspiration."_

"I can't help but notice that you said 'almost'," Tom points out with a smirk.

"Well, you know," Simon mutters, "the gay thing."

Tom shuts the laptop and puts his glass down. Simon is grateful the show is over, but wonders what's coming next. Tom shifts closer to him, leans in and says, " _That's_ what my greeting was about, all those things you said about me," just before placing a delicate kiss on Simon's cheek.

"Oh, Tom," Simon begins, already feeling a small lump rising in his throat. He wants to tell Tom it was nothing, just part of the job, but Tom stops him.

"Thank you," Tom whispers. He reaches up, cups one of Simon's cheeks and kisses his mouth this time, a very gentle press of his lips that is nonetheless laden with gratitude. When Tom pulls back, he squeezes Simon's arm, then pulls his hand away and picks up his glass to take a sip.

Simon just watches him, that throat lump still growing. "I was just doing my job," he says, then realizes how that sounds. "No, I mean, I meant it all. Of course I meant it. You know how I feel about you. But you know how the business is. We're expected to talk each other up. The depth of my true feelings has nothing to do with anything we just saw. The duties required by my job, by our jobs, have nothing to do with my personal life. I have and always will keep them separate."

Tom looks at Simon again. "I know genuine praise when I hear it. I can tell the real thing from someone who's just doing their job. Seriously, Simon, thank you. And I love you too."

Tom gazing into his eyes and saying "I love you"; it's like Kryptonite. Simon looks away, determined to remain focused. "I was saying I loved you as a friend in those interviews," he insists. "I didn't mean it any other way."

"Okay," Tom says, but his tone is a little too lilting, he still looks a bit too much like someone with a wonderful secret. He doesn't believe Simon for a second.

"I'm serious, Tom. I wasn't saying, _in front of the entire world_ , that I'm in love with you. I wouldn't do that."

"Not on purpose, no."

"You think I did it by accident?" That's exactly what Simon did, but Tom doesn't need to know that.

"Don't worry, no one else can see it. Nobody's going to look at that and think you're in love with me. It's like a code. It's meant for us, no one else. And I saw it. I recognized it. I saw your heart in those interviews."

"There you go with your grand romanticism. If you're not careful I may swoon all over your floor. When did you find all of these interviews, anyway? Are you internet-stalking me?"

"My sister Cass found them and had to show me. She thinks you're adorable. I guess it runs in the family."

"Well, that's lovely, but I'm telling you I didn't do anything. It's like I said, you're bullet proof. You didn't need my help."

"I'm not a god," Tom says more seriously. "I'm just a guy. I can fall just as easily as anyone else, much more easily than I can climb back up. We all need help sometimes, even me. _Especially_ me in the eyes of some. So again, thank you. Thank you for sticking up for me."

Simon frowns, ready to declare that of course he stuck up for Tom. Why wouldn't he? It was about time somebody punctured that noxious cloud of bullshit that surrounded him. But Simon reconsiders, remains quiet, thinking. He supposes he understands why this would mean so much to Tom. Being who he is must be strange as hell, and finding genuine friends amongst the gaggle of hangers-on that populates his world can't be easy. He is grateful and is trying to convey that.

Finally, Simon quietly says, "You're welcome. Really, it was nothing, though. It's a pleasure to tell the world what kind of man you really are. It means a lot to me to be able to do that for you, to give something back." Simon tells himself not to get choked up. He's an expert at keeping his emotions in check, but something about Tom disarms him, always has. He reaches over and touches Tom's forearm. He looks away as he gives the arm a squeeze, feeling frustrated with his own sheepishness. Okay, so he's admitted his love to the world. Even a master of detachment occasionally slips up. When it matters. When it's real. Maybe he shouldn't be so hard on himself.

 _Damn,_ he thinks.

He feels Tom take his hand and they look at each other.

"I still say you would've been fine without me," Simon says.

Tom shakes his head. "No, I wouldn't have been."

Simon doesn't have to ask. He knows Tom is no longer talking about his career. They've gone so much deeper than that now.

This is the point at which Simon would normally quip until he'd pushed away any potentially uncomfortable emotions, but he doesn't do that now because he knows what this means to Tom, can see it on his face. To distance himself now would be to dismiss Tom's feelings. He doesn't want to do that, not even outside the safety of Tom's warm bed. These emotions feel dangerous out here, in the too-bright kitchen, and especially being projected back at Simon from Tom's computer, on some website where Simon knows thousands have already seen it. Simon feels terribly exposed, but he keeps his mouth shut, for once. He simply gives Tom a nod because he's slowly learning that he doesn't want to hurt this man with his usual defense mechanisms. His entire being isn't telling him to distance himself, not this time. The part of him that lives here with Tom grows more persistent with each visit.

Which is terrifying in and of itself.

They kiss again, this time more deeply, the sort of kiss Simon feels in the pit of his stomach. When Tom pulls away and releases Simon's hand, it's as though the two of them remain connected. It's the sort of connection they have in bed, in the dark. It's that undeniable oneness that people crave, that Simon craves as well, but that also makes him kind of fidgety, like he needs to get up and go and be alone for a while to get his bearings back. It feels a bit like someone is cutting off bits of his individuality, like it's a physical thing, an actual appendage. That's the part of him that wants to distance, the part that feels stifled and more than a little afraid of how much he craves the oneness.

"You looking for apartments tomorrow?" Tom asks.

"Yeah."

"You know, I looked into that for you. Found a few places you might be interested in. Found a really nice one, actually. It's a bit bigger than you need, but it's quaint. Old-fashioned charm, wood ceiling beams give it that old-world feel, you know?"

"I'm not moving in here," Simon says. Tom is talking about the very house they currently sit in.

"Nobody is going to question a friend staying with a friend for six months while he's in town for work."

Simon sighs. "I knew you'd bring it up again."

"At least I'm consistent."

Simon casts a tired look Tom's way.

"If we weren't involved, would you stay?" Tom asks.

"Possibly. Probably, I dunno."

"You're that convinced people can see right through us?"

"No. Maybe. I dunno. Look, I just think it's a bit stupid to move in with your boyfriend if you don't actually want anyone to know he's your boyfriend. No, nobody knows anything for sure, but that doesn't mean we can just do whatever we want and expect no one to notice."

"Are you ashamed, Simon?"

The question comes at Simon like a sucker punch and he instantly tenses up. He frowns, almost glares at Tom. "Ashamed of what exactly?"

"You tell me."

The funny and somewhat sad thing is, Tom neither sounds, nor looks upset, merely curious. Maybe even slightly concerned, but not upset. Almost like he expects Simon's answer to be 'yes'.

"I'm not ashamed of what I am or who I'm with," Simon replies sharply. "I'm not like that and you know it."

Tom nods. "I know it. I was just making sure you still knew it too."

Simon clenches his jaw and looks away.

"I don't want to fight," Tom says. "It's just that it's been months and, well, where is this going?"

Simon deflates a bit. "It always comes down to this, doesn't it? Where things are going."

"I'm not trying to pressure you here. I'm just saying… I love you. I want you in my life. Long-distance never really works out."

Simon throws him another sharp look.

"That's not an ultimatum," Tom quickly adds. "It's just a fact. I don't want to lose you."

"Well, things got mighty serious awfully quick around here, didn't they?"

"Are you upset?"

"No, I just didn't think this was gonna be that type of visit. I thought maybe I could distract you with my antics and we could ignore the whole moving-in-together thing for another few months at least. I don't want to lose you, either. It's not like I don't think about the future. I do. It's just kind of a big deal, you know? It's moving away from everything I know. Permanently."

"You think about moving out here permanently?"

"Isn't that what you want?"

Tom shrugs. "I don't know. For now, while you're filming out here, sure, but after that I could always move to London. I like London."

"You could get another house in London, you couldn't move there permanently."

"Why not?"

"Because you're Tom Cruise. You're L.A. You're like the Hollywood sign; how would that look if you plunked it down in the middle of London?"

Tom smiles. "I am not a landmark, Simon."

"Like hell you're not. Besides, I just assumed I'd be the one to uproot since you've got the Munchkin, and her mother's out here."

Tom says nothing, so Simon looks at him and finds him smiling to himself.

"What?" Simon asks.

Tom looks at him. "You've given it a lot of thought, haven't you? Moving out here to be with me."

He looks terribly touched and Simon can't help but smile too. "You're gonna get all sappy on me again, aren't you?"

"Sorry."

"Yes, Tom, I think about it. I don't mind it here. Weather's fantastic and you can basically close your eyes and fall ass-backwards into new projects. Dunno how Minnie feels about it, though. Leash laws and all. But like I said, everything I know is back in England. My family, my friends, my neighborhood, my streets, words with superfluous U's in them, everything. L.A.'s a nice place to visit and work, but a guy with my complexion could very well burst into flames out here, and not the fabulous gay kind. It's a big decision."

"Can I ask you something?" Tom asks.

"If it involves the words 'move' and 'in' in the same sentence, I'm leaving."

"No, not that. I was just wondering, do you ever think about coming out?"

"Sure. I mean, I used to think about it. Before you. You sort of changed everything."

Tom nods and looks away, looking thoughtful.

"If I weren't with you, I'd come out tomorrow if I felt like I needed to. It just hasn't been an issue, you know? The people in my life who matter, they already know. It's no one else's business. Why?"

"Just thinking out loud, I guess." Tom is quiet for a moment, then seems to come to and adds, "But you're right, it's not practical for someone like me."

"Well, hang on, I never said you shouldn't think about it."

"I believe your exact words to me were 'it's not in your business plan'."

Simon scrunches up his face at the memory of his own words, at how much it sounded like he'd been condoning the world's expectation that Tom remain closeted. "Okay, yes, I did say that, but that was different. You were pursuing me pretty hardcore and it scared the shit out of me and all I could think about was the immediate lock down that would happen to my life if I took up with you. I envisioned men in dark suits and sunglasses turning up at my flat to brainwash me and tell me what to say and how to act, to sort out and clean up any unsavory bits of my life and personality, ship everything away to be burned, and replace it all with esoteric pieces of art and chamber music and a fucking chaise lounge and I'd lose all my graphic tees and my trainers."

Tom quirks an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I may have panicked a bit. It was stupid and I know that. I know that's not who you are, I know you're not that controlling, but a guy like me, you know, I sort of value my freedom to the point of being kind of a prick about it, so yeah, I panicked. The point is I'm here now and it's not nearly as bad as I thought. I'm still me, I still have my life. Your world isn't completely devoid of privacy, it's not nearly as rigid as I'd feared. So sure, you could come out. Maybe. One day. I dunno. The world's been salivating over the idea for decades now, hasn't it? It's probably used to the thought of it by now."

"Oh… kay," Tom says slowly, an amused smile on his face as he absorbs Simon's chatter. "Is that something you would want? For us to come out? Because if I did that, I'd want to be able to be honest about who I'm with, no more hiding, and I've always gotten the impression that you didn't want that."

Simon frowns again. "I'm not ashamed."

"I know."

"I always assumed _you_ didn't want to be out."

"I get that now. But you're a private person and I don't blame you for being nervous about becoming a more public part of my life. It's daunting."

Simon cants his head at Tom. "Is this something you're seriously considering? I thought you were just thinking out loud."

Tom shakes his head. "We're just talking here. Nothing is actually happening."

Simon hesitates, then replies, "It's nobody's business, that's the thing."

"If we were out, would you consider moving in with me?"

"What did I say about those words?"

"What would stop you at that point?"

Simon sighs again. "We've only been seeing each other a few months, Tom, just… just give it some time, all right?"

Tom nods, looks away, sips his cider, then sets the glass down and absently glides his fingertip around the rim. He looks far away. He _feels_ far away.

"You're actually physically uncomfortable right now, aren't you?" Simon asks, watching him. "You want to fly and I won't let you, is that it?"

Tom smiles faintly at him. "I'm fine." He holds Simon's gaze for a moment in silence, then brightens a bit and changes the subject. "Hungry yet?"

"Fucking starving. Had a really light lunch, did more talking than eating, and Nick's been teasing me with his lamb shank since I got here."

Tom frowns in confusion. "Right… I was thinking maybe we could go out."

"I was actually hoping we could stay in. I feel like I've been awake for days. The ol' brain's still running on BST, you know."

"Well, it'll be like you're staying in. I was thinking we could take the jet, just take off and go somewhere, be back by morning. You could relax, I could serve you… and service you."

Simon blinks at him. "You're serious?" It's a stupid question; of course Tom is serious. He's one of the few people Simon knows who can say, "Oh, let's just hop in my jet," and actually mean it.

Tom gives him a lopsided grin. "It's your first night here in weeks, I wanted to do something special."

"You exhaust me, you know that?"

Tom leans close with his sleepy, bedroom eyes and murmurs, "The part where I exhaust you comes later."

Simon can't help but smile and even blush as he glances down. "You're unreal."

"Did I mention I was seriously considering ripping the petals off your tulips, scattering them all over the bed and fucking you on them?"

"Now, what did those tulips ever do to you?" Simon asks, meeting Tom's eyes again and matching his intimate tone.

"They reminded me of the soft, pale skin on your shoulders that I love to kiss."

"The bastards."

Tom grins gorgeously at that, then says, "If you'd rather stay in, we can do that. It was just a suggestion. I'm happy as long as you're with me."

Simon nods, grateful. "I'd really prefer to stay in tonight. Jet lag and all."

"As you wish."

Simon thinks he's begun to understand what Tom meant when he said he experienced vertigo while looking into Simon's eyes. Simon gets it too now, just a slight tug at his inner ear when he gazes at Tom, like he wants to fall. He does so now, lets himself tumble right into another deep kiss, into Tom's magnetic pull, lets Tom catch him in an embrace.

Tom is relaxed again as they cook and eat and talk, his usual warm self with his smiling eyes. Once they move to the sofa to cuddle, Simon has almost completely settled into couplehood. This is how it always goes. After not seeing Tom for weeks, Simon stubbornly clings to his singleness, to that phantom limb of individuality. But resisting Tom is like holding your breath; it's almost painful, and why would you want to, anyway? Simon wasn't joking when he said that Tom is unreal. Tom is like some kind of fantasy, he has the sort of presence that makes your heart skip, that draws you in no matter how strong your resolve. Simon's always been drawn to him, from the moment they'd met years ago. It feels natural to just go with it, to be with him now, to be his. Tom's hands under Simon's shirt, on his bare skin, feel familiar and so good, the growing urgency in their touch feels right.

They retire to Tom's bedroom for the night where Simon must shoo Minnie off the foot of the bed. With a haughty little woof, she hops down and trots off to a chair in a corner by the window to cover the cream-colored cotton in dog hair. Simon then begins pulling off his clothes, and the moment he tosses his shirt aside, Tom presses against his back, warm and firm and in nothing but his underwear. A very inviting hardness meets Simon's backside and strong hands caress his arms as he tugs his jeans open. He lets out a sigh as a hand plunges into his boxer briefs.

His jeans hit the floor and he settles back against Tom's body, closes his eyes and enjoys being felt up. Tom's mouth latches onto his neck and sucks roughly, possessively, making Simon breathe harder and press his ass firmly against Tom's groin. He stumbles out of the jeans he's left pooled on the floor as Tom guides him backwards and pulls him toward the bed.

Tom stops sucking, spins Simon around to face him and kisses him hard, pressing the full length of his solid body to Simon's. When the kiss breaks, Simon reaches up to remove his glasses, but Tom stops him.

"Leave them," Tom says.

"Will I be doing some light reading while we're screwing?"

Tom grins. "They're sexy."

"Oh. All right."

Tom steps back and lowers his underwear. Beautifully naked, he lays himself down on the bed, maintaining eye contact with Simon as a hand goes to his hard cock. He tugs at himself a bit as he looks Simon up and down, then he pats his upper thighs; he wants Simon to sit on him.

Simon loses his underwear too, and Tom is anything but subtle about his appreciation. Simon actually hears a little grunt come out of the man, which is flattering to say the least. Simon has very little muscle tone at the moment. He's just finished filming a movie that required him to be rather gaunt, so next to Tom he's looking rather scrawny. Not that he didn't always; Tom's body is unreal in its perfection, and when Simon takes a seat on Tom, he can feel the power he is now straddling, feel it pulsing between his thighs.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Tom whispers. He tugs on Simon's hips. Simon gets the hint and shimmies up toward Tom's face while Tom wriggles down a bit. Tom's arms slip between Simon's legs so Simon can position his knees on either side of Tom's head. A moment later, Simon's balls get sucked into the wet warmth of Tom's mouth.

Simon shuts his eyes, spreads his knees a bit wider, his jaw goes slack. He grips the headboard for balance and pulls up a bit, pulling himself out of Tom's mouth, hearing the wet sound Tom's mouth makes as it lets go. The bedroom air is cool on Simon's hot, wet skin. He enjoys the sensation for a moment, then dips himself back into Tom's mouth. His free hand goes into Tom's hair to grip it.

Tom's hands are on Simon's body, feeling his ass and gripping his thighs as though trying to keep Simon still. Then his right hand reaches up for the fingers in his hair while his left hand goes for the hand gripping the headboard. Simon lets him have both and Tom interlocks their fingers and sucks hard. His mouth grips Simon tight when Simon tries to pull out again, so Simon stops tugging and lets Tom suck him. Tom gets into it, closing his eyes and moaning around Simon's balls. Simon's dick pulses with heat as Tom's tongue laves at him and he can't stop his hips from wriggling as he hovers there over Tom's face.

It isn't long before Tom gets a taste for something bigger and abandons Simon's balls in favor of his cock. He lets Simon fuck slowly into his mouth. Simon has to take his hands back now so he can lean forward against the wooden railing and watch himself move in and out of Tom's mouth. Also so he can sag against the railing when Tom's tongue does something particularly spectacular against his slit and Simon's muscles turn to jelly.

Tom pulls Simon out of his mouth and says, "Shimmy back a bit. I wanna ask you something."

Simon moves back and settles on Tom's hips again. He strokes his wet cock, inadvertently drawing Tom's eye to the movement and distracting him. Tom's hands go feeling around again. They skim down Simon's waist and thighs, a palm grazes across Simon's dick, nudges Simon's hand away to take hold and stroke it himself. He pushes up against Simon as though he can't get close enough.

"Tom?" Simon says.

"Hm?"

"You wanted to ask me something?"

"Right." Tom remembers what he wanted to say, looks up at Simon and whispers, "Teach me more Michael Caine."

Simon actually does a double take. "Now?"

"Please? I'll say anything you want me to. I promise. Pleeeeeaaase?" Tom just barely breathes this last 'please'. His eyelids droop with the weight of his arousal as he grips Simon's waist and rolls his hips up against him in a slow circle that begins and ends when that 'please' does. He then bites his bottom lip and there's just a hint of a sexy smirk on his face.

Well, this is more than a little intriguing. Tom's never begged before, not so blatantly. Simon likes it, feels his body respond with a little tingle in his belly, a little pulse in the shaft of his cock. Tom strokes him there again as though trying to coax him into complying, whispering "please" over and over.

Simon considers making him beg for a while, but then finally says, "Well, all right," with mock resignation and an exaggerated shake of his head. "An odd request at a time like this, but whatever lights your fire, I suppose."

"Mm-hm," Tom hums as he continues playing with Simon's cock.

"That's incredibly distracting, you know," Simon says, trying not to squirm.

"You should see it from my end," Tom replies with a lopsided grin. That charming smile. For a moment, Simon's brain falters, simply stalls as he stares at the man lying beneath him. Movie titles scroll through his mind; _Risky Business, Top Gun, A Few Good Men, Jerry Maguire_. They keep going, being ticked off on the list in Simon's head until he finally forces it to stop, only to have the Beach Boys' _Kokomo_ start playing in his head. He gives his head a shake and finally grabs Tom's meddling hand to make it be still.

"So sexy with your glasses on," Tom breathes, apparently undeterred.

"Quiet, you," Simon orders. He sits up straight, clears his throat, digs down deep to find his very best Michael Caine and says, "'Ello, Tom."

Tom grins and parrots back, "'Ello, Tom."

"'Ow are you today?"

"'Ow are you today?"

"Foine evening this is, innit?"

"Foine evening this is, innit?"

"I seem to 'ave a naked man underneaf me."

Tom can't repeat it straight away and instead laughs quietly to himself until he regains his composure. He manages to repeat the words without dissolving into giggles again, but as a result of Tom breaking, Simon now has to fight twice as hard to keep a straight face.

"Rather fit gentleman, 'e is," Simon manages once he's calmed himself. "Think I'd like to go down on 'im."

Tom laughs, gets halfway through the phrase and then laughs again.

"Oh dear, I believe we've lost 'im," Simon says.

"No, I'm okay," Tom insists. He coughs, wipes at his eyes which are tearing up a bit. He repeats the "go down on 'im" phrase and nearly starts laughing at the end, but manages to keep it together.

"Think I'd fancy shoving me face in 'is arse," says Michael-Simon-Caine.

This time Tom seems to have a handle on things, because he looks up at Simon with a soft, adoring smile and says, "Think I'd fancy shoving me face in 'is arse," without so much as a titter.

Funny how something so ridiculous can turn intimate in a heartbeat. Simon's laughter dissipates with Tom's. He falls once more into Tom's worshiping gaze as he strokes Tom's hard abs and says, almost whispers, "Might 'ave to give 'is prick a nice, long suck as well."

"Might 'ave to give 'is prick a nice, long suck as well," Tom echoes.

 _Fuck me,_ Simon thinks. Fucking him is definitely what Tom is thinking about; he seems mesmerized by the slow movement of the hips that Simon can't keep still.

"Tom?" says Michael-Simon-Caine. "Look at me, Tom."

Tom's eyes flit up to Simon's face. "Yeah, keep going," he whispers.

"As I was sayin' 'bout this bloke underneaf me here…" Simon continues as he leans forth and braces himself on his hands so he's hovering over Tom. He looks Tom in the eyes without even a hint of a smirk and says, "I might just 'ave to spread 'im wide open…"

"I might just 'ave to spread 'im wide open…" Tom echoes eagerly.

"… and fuck 'im senseless 'til 'e comes all over 'imself."

"… and fuck 'im senseless 'til 'e comes all over 'imself." Tom's accent, which was questionable to begin with, is getting lost in his arousal. His hands find Simon's ass and grab on as he slowly grinds against Simon. Simon presses down on him, for a moment so lost in the hot firmness of Tom's cock against his own that he has to close his eyes, has to let out a soft moan. He feels his control slipping away as he hurries to lick his hand and bring it down between them. He lifts up and wets them both, licks again and deposits more spit on their dicks. When he presses down again and glides against Tom with ease, he lets out another sigh.

"So fucking hot," Tom whispers, all traces of Caine gone. He emits a few moans of his own. Simon opens his eyes to look down at the sleepy-eyed sex symbol; Tom is now all slack in the jaw, twitching muscles and intensity as he stares at Simon's body again. Simon gets his control back and reaches out to take hold of Tom's jaw. Tom's eyes instantly snap back up to his face.

"Repeat:" Simon orders, then as Caine he says, "Then I'll 'ave to lick up all 'is come and feed it to 'im when I stick me tongue down 'is throat."

"Fuck, Simon," Tom groans, grinding a little harder.

"Would you like that, Tom?"

"Yes," Tom breathes urgently.

"Tell me. Tell me what you want."

"All that stuff you just said, every bit of it," Tom says impatiently.

"Ah, ah, ah. Like Mike."

A little of the tension breaks and Tom grins. "Simon, I think we're past that now –"

"Simon? Oo's 'e, then?"

Tom chuckles, but plays along. He clears his throat and begins reciting, but he's left Michael Caine far behind by now. "I want to shove my face in your ass and give your prick a nice, long suck…"

He punctuates the word 'suck' with a forceful roll of his hips. Simon is too turned on, too mesmerized and too keen to hear more filth come out of Tom's mouth to be concerned about the absence of an accent. "Go on," he breathes, losing the Caine cockney himself.

"…fuck you senseless until you come all over yourself," Tom continues, "and then I want to lick up every last drop of your come and let you suck it off my tongue."

Hearing Tom talk dirty is hot enough to rival the California heat, but Simon maintains his cool, at least outwardly, and as Caine he says, "Reckon 'at's a mite unsanitary."

Tom gives Simon's ass a playful smack before pulling him down, rolling him onto his back and kissing him hard.

Simon had fully intended to do to Tom all of the naughty things he'd just detailed, but somewhere along the line Tom got other ideas. He spends a long time down between Simon's legs, sucking, teasing with his tongue, generally turning Simon into a pliable, blissful puddle. And he's doing it on purpose. Tom is nothing if not a fast learner and he knows how to drive Simon a bit mad. He attacks this task as he would any other; with determination and confidence. This is the Tom that Simon has worked with on set, the one that doesn't stop until he gets it right. Simon doesn't stand a chance to gain control here, which might bother him with anyone else, but with Tom it's okay.

When they switch, Simon gives the task his all just like Tom did, so much so that he gags just a bit when he takes Tom in too far. That's the thing about Tom; he has a way of pushing those around him to do better, without really meaning to, and sometimes to the point of injury. Well, gagging is hardly injury, but Simon has hurt himself on set trying to live up to Tom. He'd never tell Tom, though; Tom would only blame himself. Truth be told, Simon likes the motivation, the challenge. He likes that Tom is something of a mentor to him. It's probably why he doesn't mind giving up control with Tom.

Undeterred, Simon plows ahead, gently deep-throating until he gets control of his gag reflex. He is careful and a little tentative as he holds Tom against the back of his throat, but Tom seems to like the gagging. Tom doesn't want to admit it, but every time Simon gags a bit, Simon hears a soft breath from Tom, as though Tom wants to sigh and won't quite let himself. He doesn't want to admit to liking something that causes Simon discomfort.

Which is very sweet, and just goes to prove what a gentleman Tom is, but now that Simon's got a little control, he's not about to let it go to waste. He gags once, twice, three times more, on purpose. Tom's hand finds its way to his hair to pet him. Tom's thighs tense, he squirms. A quick glance up shows Simon that Tom is watching him, eyes sleepy, mouth slightly open.

A smirk touches Tom's lips and he says, "If the world could see us now."

Simon nearly chokes as his laughter begins slipping out before he can take Tom out of his mouth. He clears his throat and retorts, "There are some that are already convinced I must've had to blow somebody to get into MI3 in the first place. This'll just clinch it for them."

Tom sits up, takes Simon's hand and guides him up too. He takes Simon in his arms and kisses him. It's the sort of kiss Tom had greeted him with in the kitchen, grateful and needy and passionate, the sort of kiss that sucks the breath straight out of Simon's lungs.

When it breaks, Simon gazes sleepily at Tom and whispers, "Guess I've secured my part in MI5, then."

Tom grins. "Audition's not over yet."

The remainder of the "audition" focuses mainly on Simon's ass, which is put through its paces, first by Tom's tongue, then his fingers and then his cock. Tom takes him from behind first. With Simon on all fours, Tom gives his ass a few final licks, one last, good probing with three fingers, then he is up on his knees and nudging inside. Simon finally takes off his glasses, tosses them aside and bows his head, concentrating on taking Tom in.

Tom leans over Simon's back, putting his face close to Simon's head. "Missed you so much," he whispers.

"Missed you too," Simon replies, his voice nearly lost in his own breathlessness. Tom stops moving then, is waiting and being cautious. But Simon isn't in the mood to be cautious. He bears down, reaches back to touch Tom's hip and gently pull him forth, guide him home.

"You sure?" Tom whispers, even as he continues pushing inside.

Now Simon's voice is stretched taut, straining to pass through his clenched throat. "Yeah… just…" When Tom is finally pressed all the way in, Simon utters a string of random consonants and vowels that manage, just once, to arrange themselves into a soft, drawn out version of Tom's name.

Tom is passionate and worshiping and patient, his hands gripping Simon's hips or caressing his back as he begins pumping in and out. He's slow at first, lets Simon guide him, tell him when to go faster. Simon rocks his hips backward, arching his back and pressing his ass against Tom's groin. He brings Tom all the way inside, then pulls forward, then pushes back again, matching Tom's thrusts, setting the speed and growing accustomed to being so full. He goes faster, more out of necessity than anything else; when he pulls forward, his body misses the feeling of having Tom in deep. He presses back more quickly each time, impatient, wanting to be filled up again.

"What a hot little bitch you are," Tom murmurs. A surge of heat pulses in Simon's lower belly, makes his cock throb and leak onto the sheets.

"Tom," he breathes, dropping his head and bringing a hand to his cock to give it a tug and smear pre-come over the head.

"That okay? If I call you that?"

Tom is a true gentleman, even when he's balls-deep inside his boyfriend.

"Fuck me harder and say it again," Simon growls at him.

Tom raises up again, stands up tall on his knees, grips Simon's hips and rams into him. Simon cries out, only to have Tom snap his hips forward fast and hard again and again, now finding his own rhythm and speed.

"You hot little fucking bitch," he says again, a little louder this time to be heard over Simon's moans and the slapping of their skin. Simon's cock has the same reaction as before; another droplet of pre-come seeps out onto his fingers.

Tom gets Simon on his back and settles between his legs, fucking him missionary, getting at his prostate more easily. When Tom pushes back in, in the new position, slow and deliberate and so much deeper than before, Simon makes a very undignified noise, sort of a whimper, a moan and a growl combined.

"Oh, yeah, that's what you've been wanting, huh?" Tom says in a husky voice.

Simon merely groans. He can't get his brain to form sentences, let alone get words out of his mouth.

"It can be like this, just like this, every night. Every – fucking – night." Tom punctuates each of his last three words with a hard thrust. Simon clenches his teeth, determined not to try to speak now, because right now he'll probably agree to just about anything Tom wants. Move in together? Yes. Get married and come out to the world? Oh god, _yes_. A wealthy Nigerian Prince needs help? _Fuck, yes, yes, YES._

Tom nuzzles at Simon's neck and whispers, "Move in with me, gorgeous."

"Fuck you," Simon pants. "Not fair."

"How's that?"

"Disabling my brain with your… Tom Cruiseness and then… asking me to make decisions. Not fair."

Tom chuckles; a low, silky sound in Simon's ear. "Is that a maybe?"

Simon grabs onto the hair at the back of Tom's head, demands, "Quiet," and kisses him hard to shut him up. Simon goes total power-bottom and uses every muscle to meet each of Tom's thrusts, hard and fast, forcing Tom to match his aggressive rhythm. His free hand grips Tom's firm ass, pushing down on it with each of Tom's inward thrusts. His tactic seems to work, because when Tom is able to tear his mouth away, he is speechless but for a breathy "yeah" or "fuck" or unintelligible grunt.

Tom slips his hand between them and begins stroking Simon's cock, and as Simon draws nearer to climax, Tom's crudely grunted words turn to filthy encouragements: "Come on, gorgeous, let it go. Give it to me, I'm so hungry for it. Want it in my mouth, beautiful, wanna fucking taste you." Simon's body seems to want to obey, because as Tom whispers sweet, dirty nothings in his ear, Simon loses control and begins spilling onto his belly.

"There it is," Tom says in a low rasp. He pumps his hips harder, almost unbearably hard, determined to completely wear Simon out. He's looking down at Simon's face now, watching him lose it, watching the results of his hard work. And it has been hard work; Simon's hands glide in the sweat that coats Tom's back. "That's it, come undone for me, all over yourself. How good is that, hm? How good do you feel right now? I can do this to you all the time, every night, make you feel… so good…" He trails off here as his thrusts become quick and sharp, as his expression becomes pained and he, too, starts coming, just as Simon is coming down.

Simon's exhausted body is desperate to just go limp and lie there, but he wraps his arms around Tom, holds him tight as Tom tenses, drops his head down next to Simon's and pumps him full of come. This is one of those moments when Simon would let that last bit of his guard down and say everything he's feeling, when Tom is spilling into him and is so vulnerable in his arms, when it feels like they're truly one, when Simon can kiss Tom's face and cradle him and clench around his shaft and lovingly milk him dry. But apart from his panting and a few moans that are forced out of him by Tom's last few thrusts, Simon keeps his mouth shut this time.

How Tom has any strength left in the moments after his climax is a mystery to Simon; when Tom withdraws, he manages to slink down Simon's body and lap up the come on Simon's belly. His tongue glides around, tracing come trails. He makes hungry humming sounds as he sucks the liquid from Simon's skin with his lips. He slides back up and pushes his tongue deep into Simon's mouth, at once sharing with Simon and claiming him with a forceful kiss.

He finally rolls off, settles at Simon's side and wipes the moisture from his mouth with a haphazard swipe of his hand. They lie quietly side-by-side for a while. Minnie seems to know that it's safe to come back, because as soon as they settle down she is down off her chair and back up onto the foot of the bed where she curls up in a little furry heap and proceeds to snore.

"So, _was_ that a maybe?" Tom asks.

"You just don't quit, do you?"

"I'm just saying –"

"No, Tom."

"All right." Tom goes quiet again. Simon looks over at him and finds him staring at the ceiling. He is tense and distant again.

A light goes on in Simon's periphery. A soft buzzing noise tells him his phone wants his attention. He stretches his arm across to grab it from the nightstand. A text from Nick:

> _"Morning, sexy bitch. Sleep well tonight."_

Simon grins and texts back:

> _"Night-night, cuddles. Have a lovely day."_

"Please tell me you're not telling Twitter that we just had sex," Tom says.

"It's just Nick saying good-night-slash-good-morning."

"That's sweet. Does he know?"

"About what, you and me?"

"Yeah."

Simon clears his throat and sets his phone back down on the nightstand. "No. I mean, he knows I'm staying with you, but that's all." He winces in the dark. He hates lying to Tom, but he never did ask if it was okay to tell anyone about their relationship.

"Tell him I said hi," says Tom. "I'd love to meet him soon."

"Right, yeah. I'd like that too."

"Can I join you on your house hunt tomorrow?"

"Sure, I'd like your input. When are you available?"

"I've got meetings all morning, but I'll be free around lunch."

"That works. I've got a radio interview in the morning, won't be meeting the realtor until around two. Maybe you'll be in time for lunch with Chris and me."

"Chris who?"

"Pine. Told him I'd be in town this week and he insisted we get together before filming starts, touch base a bit."

A smile flickers across Tom's face. "Is this the, and I quote, 'beautiful, tall, statuesque, threatening' Chris Pine?"

"Sorry?"

"That's what you called him."

"When?"

"In an interview."

"You _are_ stalking me."

"I think it's the one where you're ranting about Star Wars –"

"That doesn't narrow it down, love."

"– but then talk turns to the next Trek movie and you mention Chris. Once Cass sent me the links to the interviews I showed you earlier, I admit I went ahead and did some digging of my own."

"You do have a day job, don't you?"

"I miss you when you're gone, gotta soothe myself somehow. So, do I need to worry about this Chris Pine fellow?"

 _"What?"_ Simon laughs.

Even in the dark, Tom's eyes twinkle a little. He doesn't actually look worried. His smile is teasing as he repeats, "I said should I be worried about him? You clearly think he's something special."

"He's a friend. And he's perfectly heterosexual."

"I dunno, you two seem awfully fond of each other, not to mention comfortable in each other's personal space. Didn't you tell me something about him grabbing your ass at a premiere?"

"Yeah, he sidled by and copped a feel while I was being interviewed. Frankly, I think he was just checking to see if I was wearing anything underneath that kilt."

"And were you?"

Simon smirks, puts on his Glaswegian accent, and says, "A gentleman never tells, laddie."

"…That was kinda sexy."

Simon gazes fondly at him. "I can whip it out again for round two, if you like. The accent, I mean."

Tom grins his movie-star grin, then brings a hand up and brushes the backs of his fingers against Simon's chest. "Speaking of round two…"

"Already? Better be careful, old man, you're liable to hurt yourself. Or me."

Tom ignores the warning and instead rolls into Simon's arms again. Simon nudges the furry lump off the end of the bed.

End of Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Chris Pine _is_ beautiful, tall, statuesque and threatening. He's the nicest guy in the world, but standing next to him can be intimidating. He's one of the "cool kids", one of those effortlessly beautiful boys that Simon would have admired in school. Simon's humor has always been his weapon of choice and he would have used it to charm his way into the good graces of such an outstandingly lovely creature as Chris.

Chris is about ten years Simon's junior. They never would have been in school together, but the dynamics between them are the same as if Chris is some mysterious drama student that a teenage Simon wishes to be near. Simon cracks wise just to make Chris smile, gets a little belly flutter when he succeeds. And Chris, being the natural flirt that he is, plays right along. It's all rather innocent; for Simon, it's the equivalent of being accepted into some cool high school clique.

The following morning, the day of his radio interview and lunch with Chris, he is up early, partially out of necessity, partially to escape the nightmares. He raises his head and casts about, looking for Minnie. She isn't there. Logically, he knows she's somewhere in the house doing doggie things, but the sense of dread that had plagued him in dreams has followed him into the light. He hears the telltale jingling of dog tags off in the distance and tries to relax.

Tom is awake. Simon can hear his voice somewhere beyond the bedroom. He sits up too quickly and groans; his body is protesting the way forty-one-year-old bodies are wont to do after a night of marathon passion. Simon is probably in better shape than he's be in, in his whole life, but fucking Tom Cruise apparently requires muscles that Simon's regular workouts have been ignoring.

He automatically grabs his phone. Ignoring the messages he's already received that morning, he opens a text window and thumbs in a message to Nick:

> _"Nightmare last night. Minnie got sucked into one of Tom's dimples, never to be seen again. What do you think that means?"_

Minutes later, Nick replies:

> _"Had many dreams like that before?"_

> _"A few. Had one once where we were having sex and he turned into a zombie and tried to eat my face."_

> _"Right, but with you I'm not sure if that's a nightmare or… not."_

> _"You don't think the two are related, do you? I mean, zombies are my thing, I was having zombie apocalypse nightmares long before I met him. They've got nothing to do with Tom."_

> _"Dunno. If you're asking the question, seems you might already know the answer."_

Tom enters the bedroom just then. He is already dressed – a khakis-and-long-sleeved-tee combo that is somehow devastatingly hot. He's got his game face on and a cell phone earpiece attached to his head. He is in the middle of a conversation, discussing details of his next project, when he spots Simon sitting up in bed. He stops on his way to his closet and smiles. Simon squints sleepily at him and waves.

"Can you hang on a sec?" Tom says to the person on the other end of the call. He taps his earpiece, then approaches Simon and leans down close. "Morning, gorgeous," he murmurs and kisses Simon's forehead. "How are you?"

"Sore. Should've warmed up and stretched before the festivities last night."

Tom grins. "Wasn't too rough with you, was I?"

"I'll live. Could've been worse. Fact is we're two forty-somethings, we're lucky neither of us broke a hip."

Tom nods at Simon's phone. "One of these days you're going to have that thing surgically attached to your hand, aren't you?"

"It's just Nick."

"You really miss him when you're away, don't you?"

Simon can't help but smile at the thought of his best friend. "Not making you feel like a third wheel, am I?"

"No, it's nice. I've gotta meet this guy. Anybody who makes you smile like that must be something. Why haven't you told him about us yet, by the way?"

Simon fidgets and avoids Tom's eyes. "Never found the right moment, I suppose."

"You can, you know. He's your best friend. You've known him, what, two decades now?"

"Something like that."

"So, why wait?" Tom reaches up and smooths down Simon's morning hair. "Listen, I've gotta run."

"First meeting soon?" Simon asks, rubbing his eyes.

"No, fourth. I've already had the first two via video conference. This is the third right here." He gestures at his earpiece.

Simon stops rubbing his eyes. "Already?"

"Yeah, had the first meeting just after my workout, the second while I ate. Minnie's been walked for you, by the way. She's been fed too. She's all set."

"Wait, three meetings, breakfast, a dog walk and a workout? How long have I been asleep?"

"I have to admit, I'm not the one who walked her."

"You lazy son of a bitch."

Tom smiles at that. "Hey, I did manage to fill her food dish, I'm not completely useless. I'll text you later when I'm free. You know the drill; my people will get you whatever you need." At that he kisses Simon's face again, then pushes away from the bed. He goes into his closet and comes back out with a button-down shirt in his hand and a pair of leather sandals on his feet.

"Time Turners are illegal, you know," Simon says. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

Tom puts the button-down on over his t-shirt and asks, "How do you know I'm in Gryffindor?"

"If you're not in Gryffindor, the Sorting Hat's a wanker. No, wait, you're probably in Hufflepuff. You seem very Cedric Diggory now that I think about it."

"And what about you?"

"Ravenclaw, probably. Anything but Hufflepuff."

"I think you might've missed the point of those books."

Tom heads for the bedroom door, taps his earpiece and continues his call. He grabs a pair of sunglasses from his back pocket and shoves them onto his face, completing his transformation into a movie star. He glances back at Simon, smiles his iconic, toothy smile and blows a little kiss as he walks out the door and shuts it behind him.

Simon waves back rather lamely, thinking, _Holy shit, that was Tom Cruise._

Time to move. Tom's got half his day's activities finished already while Simon's still got bedhead. He pushes the covers away, swings his legs off the bed and puts his feet on the floor. He stretches, feels his joints crack and winces at his various aches, especially the one in his left knee. He extends his left leg slowly, lowers it, repeats. He massages just below the kneecap and wonders exactly which of last night's positions has aggravated his old injury.

He shoves his glasses onto his face and wraps his naked body in Tom's big terrycloth bathrobe. He yawns hugely as he exits the bedroom and gets the robe closed just as he begins descending the stairs and realizes he's not alone.

He pauses halfway down the stairs as the sound of chatter reaches his ears. He frowns, cranes his neck and quietly makes his way down the remaining steps. The noises are coming from the kitchen.

That's right. Tom's staff. His "people". They're sometimes present in the mornings. Simon keeps forgetting that. When you're wrapped up in a perfect one-thousand-thread-count world with Tom it's easy to forget anyone else exists. Besides, Simon is normally shielded from having to deal with any of them, beyond quick hellos and goodbyes, when Tom is there with him.

Simon isn't really in the mood to deal with anyone just yet. He certainly isn't dressed for it; he suddenly feels extra naked despite the robe. He turns and heads back upstairs, but before he can make it to safety –

"Good morning, Mr. Pegg!" says a far too perky male voice. It sounds familiar, and when Simon stops and looks down to scowl at the man, he recognizes the young, bright face of Thorne Wylie, the skinny, unbearably chipper assistant to Tom. Thorne can't be thirty yet. He's handsome enough, in a boyish sort of way. He has short, blond hair, hazel eyes, rosy cheeks and all the eager-to-please alertness of a puppy. He wears sweater vests over his crisp, pastel-colored shirts. He never lets go of his iPad, which Simon can certainly understand, but that seems to be where their similarities end.

Suddenly grateful that Tom's robe is equipped with a hood, Simon pulls it on over his bedhead.

He squints at Thorne as though the very brightness of Thorne's smile is too much to take at this hour. "Morning," his raspy sleep-voice replies. Compared to Thorne's smooth, clear voice, Simon almost sounds like he's started smoking again.

"I'm glad you're up. We've got your pre-workout snack all whipped up for you," Thorne says with his adorable lisp.

"My what now?"

"Protein shake. It's Mr. Cruise's favorite."

Simon sighs audibly.

"Would you prefer to have it brought up to you?"

Simon thinks about the state the bedroom is currently in; clothes scattered about, probably a bottle of lube sitting out somewhere unless Tom remembered to put it away. Simon isn't sure and is in no mood to straighten up. Not that these people, Tom's staff, don't know about the nature of Tom and Simon's relationship. Even if Tom's never expressly told them, surely they've seen this kind of thing before – the sleepovers, the closeness – and understand that they are to be discreet.

Still, the idea of these people traipsing around his and Tom's little love nest is off-putting.

Simon glances longingly back up the stairs, but then turns and goes all the way down, mumbling, "No, I'll come down." Looking pleased, Thorne spins around and leads Simon to the kitchen.

"Did you sleep well, Mr. Pegg?"

"Yeah, thanks," Simon replies tersely as he steps out of the way of another staff person. An Asian woman with jaw-length hair that swings as she goes whizzing by like she's on wheels. She slips between Simon and Thorne, cutting a path through them like she doesn't see them. She's dressed all in black and has a phone pressed to her ear.

"Er, Thorne?" Simon says. 

Thorne stops and spins to face Simon, nearly knocking Simon over. They are mere feet from the kitchen now, and Simon can see more people on cell phones and laptops and tablet computers, some with coffee cups or pastries in hand, eating and drinking as they carry out Tom's daily business.

"Is this really necessary?" Simon asks. "I normally just grab something on my own, I don't need people to feed me."

"Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Pegg," Thorne protests. His tone makes Simon feel a bit like a toddler who's just been stopped from drawing all over the walls. "Mr. Cruise insisted we take care of this for you. It's no trouble at all." At that, Thorne turns and continues on his way. Simon reluctantly follows him into the buzzing kitchen.

It is filled with a mere fraction of Tom's staff, but it's already too many people for Simon's liking. Six men and women of varying age, all of whom Simon has seen coming and going before and having hushed conversations with Tom, have stationed themselves all around the space. They are sitting at the table, poised at the counter or island, and are speaking very quickly on their phones or tapping away at keyboards or screens. One gets up to leave and two more, also vaguely familiar looking, replace them. One of the newcomers, a young brunette woman with horn-rimmed glasses, glances back on her way inside and says, "Good morning, Mr. Pegg." Simon gives her a polite smile and all he can think is that this woman, _all_ of these people, know exactly what he and Tom did together last night.

A quick glance out the back door shows that Minnie is enjoying the morning sun with another staff member. Simon longs to get Minnie's attention, but there's no way to do that without going out there. She's completely occupied, catching a Frisbee over and over in Tom's spacious backyard. Simon must be the last thing on her mind.

No one else bothers Simon or even stops what they're doing to acknowledge him, except for one man. He stands across the room, on the opposite side of the island. He is tall, over six foot, long-faced, older, maybe mid-sixties. He has a head full of ash-black hair with touches of white, swept back and a little wavy at the neck. He has deep-set, dark eyes, with circles underneath them, that scan the room as though watching over everything, but his main concern seems to be Simon. Dressed in black slacks and a button-down and tie, he talks on his phone while eying Simon suspiciously. He is the only person Simon doesn't recognize. Simon huddles further back into his bathrobe hoodie.

"Will you be staying in the kitchen?" Thorne asks. "I can clear everyone out if you like."

"No, I don't think so," Simon replies distractedly.

"The dining room? The den? The living room? The office? The –"

"I'll just take whatever it is back upstairs with me, thanks."

"Very well." Thorne gets the attention of a harried-looking brown-skinned woman on a cell phone. She cradles the phone between her cheek and shoulder while she goes to the fridge and retrieves the large, glass container from the blender that normally sits on the counter. She grabs a tall glass from inside the freezer and pours the blender contents into it as she approaches Simon and Thorne, all the while talking incessantly on her phone. She hands Thorne the frosty glass of what looks like a chocolate milkshake, then spins around and stalks off to dump the blender container in the dishwasher.

Thorne presents the shake to Simon as though Simon has won an award. "Chocolate whey powder, extra virgin coconut oil and one banana, blended until smooth and served in a chilled glass."

Simon takes the shake. "Thanks."

"Once you're finished with your workout, come find me. I'll make sure breakfast is ready once you're out of the shower."

"I'm fully capable of preparing my own meals."

"Mr. Cruise insists." Thorne pauses, frowns. "Was the meal last night okay? I can speak to Jessie if something wasn't to your liking."

"Who? What?"

"Jessie, Mr. Cruise's personal chef."

"Oh. No, Tom and I made supper ourselves last night. No one cooked for us."

"Yes, Mr. Pegg, but the menu was designed by his chef. She was sure to leave Mr. Cruise instructions so he could prepare the meal on his own." Thorne gets a happy, secretive look on his face as he leans in and whispers, "He wanted an extra special meal for your first night back. Actually, it was supposed to be for tonight. Last night was supposed to be the trip on the jet, but since that didn't happen, I guess he did some shuffling."

Simon stares at him.

"Was everything to your liking, Mr. Pegg?"

"Yeah. It was fine."

"Excellent. Now, before you head back up, I have a couple of questions." Thorne begins tapping at his iPad. "I have your measurements correct, yes?" He shows Simon a graph upon which are Simon's height, weight, waist size, shoe size and more.

"What's this?" Simon demands, grabbing the tablet to have a closer look.

"All the essential information Mr. Cruise requires for gift giving."

"Is… is that my ring size?"

"Yes, sir. Is that not correct?"

" _I'm_ not even sure what my ring size is, how the hell do you people know?"

"Mr. Cruise is very thorough."

"Is that my _inseam_?"

"Yes, sir."

Simon looks up at him. "Most of the people I've slept with don't know my inseam, and you haven't even bought me dinner yet."

"I did have that protein shake made for you," Thorne points out. He smiles hopefully, but Simon isn't in the mood to laugh politely at other people's jokes. Thorne sobers, clears his throat and gently takes the tablet back. "There are no discrepancies here, is that correct?"

"Er, not that I can see, no, but –"

"Excellent. Now, as I said, come find me when you're finished with your workout so we can sort out breakfast. If you have trouble finding me, you can reach me via text or email. You do have my number, don't you?"

Simon glowers at the ridiculous question. "No."

"I can program it into your phone for you. It's in the master bedroom, isn't it?"

"No! I mean, I can do that on my own, thanks. Just tell me what it is, I'll remember."

Thorne begins reading off a string of various numbers and e-mail addresses. Simon's mind immediately begins to wander as he sips his protein shake. He tries to remember ever telling Tom any of the information he's just read on Thorne's tablet. Not that most of it would be difficult to get; Tom would have had ample opportunity to check clothing sizes.

He glances back toward the tall man. He is still on his phone and still eying Simon, but then he finally looks away, turns his left side away from Simon and leans it against the counter's edge.

"Are you sure you're getting all this?" Thorne asks without stopping for a breath. "Maybe you should give me your number so I can send you my info."

"What?" Simon looks to him again. He hasn't been listening at all, but he caught Thorne's final words well enough. With an impatient wave of his hand he gives Thorne his number, then looks back to the tall man; he is watching Simon again, though now he seems to be at least attempting to be discreet. He averts his gaze just a bit, but Simon suspects he's still watching in his periphery.

"Who is that?" Simon asks.

Thorne follows Simon's gaze. "That's David, one of Mr. Cruise's advisers."

"I've never seen him before. The rest of you are familiar, but not him."

"Oh, you must have seen him. He's always here."

"Adviser of what, exactly?"

"Oh, this and that. Spiritual matters, mostly."

"Religious stuff?"

"Yes, that. And other things. They've known each other for years. He's one of Mr. Cruise's most trusted friends. Mr. Cruise takes his advice about almost everything."

"That's comforting considering he keeps eying me like he thinks I might be hiding a bomb inside this robe."

"Oh, he always looks like that."

"Uh-huh. If he's Tom's 'spiritual adviser', what's he doing here now? Tom's not here, why should _he_ be?"

"I'm sure there's a good reason," Thorne says, distracted now by his tablet. He seems patently unconcerned, so Simon decides to drop it.

"I'll be upstairs, then," Simon mutters as he turns to leave.

Thorne calls out a few last-minute "helpful" instructions as Simon departs, but Simon isn't listening. He's glancing over his shoulder at David, who is whispering into his phone and watching Simon sidelong.

Upstairs, he gulps down his shake, changes into shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers, then heads back downstairs to the gym. As he steps quietly down the stairs again, determined not to draw attention to himself, members of Tom's staff go by, chattering to each other and into their phones. Simon goes virtually unnoticed, but that's hardly as good as simply having the house to himself. He is happy to disappear into Tom's private gym for an hour or so.

Once he's finished and showered, he snuggles into Tom's bathrobe again and goes back down to breakfast. Jessie – a serious woman with an ample, hourglass figure and her chestnut hair pulled back in a tight ponytail – is dressed in her brightest chef whites. Simon is escorted to the table (the staff seem to have been shunted off elsewhere, no doubt by Thorne) and Jessie presents him with an egg white omelet and bacon, then stands next to his chair with her hands clasped at her back, looking like she's standing at attention.

The omelet is heart shaped.

"Tom's idea," Simon says, staring at it.

"He's an incurable romantic," Jessie says in her usual monotone. Simon detects a hint of exasperation in her tone as though the very act of making the omelet heart-shaped went against everything she stands for. "Can I get you anything else, Mr. Pegg?"

"No, this'll be fine, thank you."

At that, she gives him a nod and departs.

A moment later, the back door opens and Minnie comes scampering back inside with her new friend in tow. She scurries right by Simon without so much as looking at him. The staff person – a tall, handsome black man Simon remembers is called Len – stops by Simon and greets him in a low, silky voice.

"Morning," Simon replies. "She couldn't stop and say hello to her master? Barely a day and already the little bitch has gone Hollywood on me."

"She's scheduled for a spa appointment at noon," says Len. "I was told to double check that with you."

Simon stares up at him in disbelief. "My dog has a spa appointment?"

"Yes. Mr. Cruise's treat."

"Like a dog spa?"

"Yes, L.A.'s premier canine facility. She'll receive a shampoo, a trim, a massage and have her nails cut. Is there anything else you'd like done?"

"Do they do Botox?"

Len hesitates, then replies, "I can… check on that for you if you'd like."

"That was a joke."

"Oh." He smiles. "Of course, sir."

"Whatever they normally do will be fine, I'm sure. Thanks."

With a nod, Len turns and leaves Simon slightly bewildered and alone in the kitchen. Suddenly, the space feels too big. Simon feels tiny sitting there in his robe, with his heart-shaped omelet.

Later on when he tries to leave, he is accosted by Thorne again.

"Mr. Pine will be meeting you at 12:30."

"I know."

"I've called ahead for a reservation for you. You prefer patio seating, is that right?"

"Er, sure, yeah."

"The reservation is under Mr. Cruise's name. I strongly suggest you get in touch with Mr. Pine to inform him of this."

"Right, will do."

"Mr. Cruise will meet you both there at 12:43."

"12:43? That's oddly specific, isn't it?"

"Minnie will be finished her appointment by 1:30 –"

"That's nice, look, Thorne, you don't have to tell me all this. I know how to tell time and I'm sure Minnie's in capable hands."

Thorne looks a bit like someone's shoved a wrench into the gears in his brain. He hesitates, then says, "Mr. Cruise likes knowing exactly what's going on minute to minute."

"Yeah, well, I'm not him and he's not here. Just relax. I'm sure you all know what you're doing. Just chill, all right?"

"…Chill."

"Yeah. Just let me know what I need to know. Reservations under Tom's name. Call Chris to tell him. Got it. Done. See how easy that is?"

Thorne nods uncertainly. "You don't want to make sure exactly when Minnie will be fed and walked?"

"No. For god's sake, no, just…" Simon makes a motion with his hands like he wants Thorne to turn down the volume on something.

"Chill," Thorne says, interpreting the motion.

"Exactly. I'm gonna go now, okay?"

Thorne still looks uneasy.

"I'll be fine. I'm a big boy, I can cross the street on my own and everything."

"Um, Mr. Pegg –"

Simon opens the door before Thorne can get another word out, and there in Tom's driveway is a sleek, black, luxury car. A man in a chauffeur's uniform is standing next to it. He smiles at Simon and opens the back door for him.

Simon looks back at Thorne. "This what you were gonna tell me just now?"

Thorne nods with a grimace. "This is Gus. He'll be your driver today."

"Of course he will."

"Mr. Cruise insisted."

"Of course he did."

"I can cancel the car if you'd prefer."

Simon gets the impression that if he has Thorne do that, he might very well be responsible for Thorne's impending aneurism. He takes the car.

He texts Chris before the interview, tells him someone will be joining them for lunch. At some point Chris texts back, asking who it is. Simon doesn't get the message until after leaving the radio station. He replies:

> _"I'll give you a hint: he's a real top gun."_

Chris replies instantly this time as Simon, having convinced Gus to take a breather, walks through the streets of L.A., on his way to the restaurant:

> _"???"_

Simon grins and replies:

> _"He'll probably have a COCKTAIL or two during lunch."_

> _"Simon, for god's sake."_

> _"Seriously? That's two clues and I capitalized the second one."_

> _"Wait, are we talking about who I think we're talking about?"_

> _"Nice of you to catch up."_

> _"TELL ME THE NAME SO I KNOW FOR SURE"_

> _"Lestat. He is venturing out into the light just for you."_

> _O_O_

Several more texts arrive before Simon gets to the restaurant. It is mostly Chris losing his shit and whining at Simon about not being dressed for such an occasion, but then Simon gets a message from Tom. He is en route and will be joining them in ten minutes and Simon should order him the house salad to start. A second later, Thorne texts him to tell him the exact same thing.

Even when Chris is freaking the hell out he's stunning. When he spots Simon, his eyes widen behind his black-framed glasses, all the better to see their piercing blueness. He mouths the words "what the fuck" as Simon is escorted to the table on the restaurant's patio. Chris stands; he's filling out his corduroy jeans quite nicely. He takes the hand Simon offers him and pulls Simon into a hug.

"Couldn't give a brother a little warning?" Chris says in Simon's ear.

"It slipped my mind. He only decided to come last night."

"You two were hanging out last night?"

Simon hears suspicion in Chris's voice that isn't really there. He realizes he's being stupid and nods as they disengage. "Yeah, we had dinner together."

"Oh, where'd you go?"

No, there is no suspicion in Chris's questions, but Simon still feels awkward. Lying feels like the appropriate thing to do here, but there's no reason to. He and Chris sit down and Simon replies, "We stayed in. I'm staying at his place while I'm here. Just for this week. I'll be getting my own place when filming starts. He insisted I stay, so…"

"That was nice of him."

"Yeah, he's a good guy. You look great, by the way," Simon adds, changing the subject. "Good to see you again."

Chris smiles, licks his full lips and leans in, elbows on the table. "Same. I've missed you."

"And I've missed your constant invasions of my personal space. Still got your fingerprints stamped into my buttocks. Must you smack so hard?"

"Oh, but you like it rough, don't you?"

"Yeah, I kinda do."

"Speaking of missing, where's the rest of you?"

Simon glances down at himself. "Yeah, had to lose a few. I had a mission to accept."

"What mission, Britain's Next Top Model? You're practically waif-like."

"Hey, it's strenuous work, saving the world. You know how it is, Cap'n."

Chris gives Simon an appraising look as he picks up his menu. "Looking good, Peggster. Still, don't disappear on me. I like my guys with a little meat on 'em." He gives Simon a wink, then looks down at his menu.

Simon blushes and is sufficiently flustered enough that when their server approaches, it feels like she's interrupting a date. When she leaves to get their drinks and place their appetizer orders, Chris starts browsing the lunch entrees and says, "So. You and Tom Cruise."

Simon nearly chokes on his water. He coughs and says, "What?"

"You're BFFs now. You're staying with him, ordering his food…"

"Oh. Right. Yeah, we got close during filming. He's great. Slightly superhuman. He'll tell you he's not, don't believe him. He's got powers."

Chris shakes his head. "Still can't believe you only told me he was coming this morning. I didn't get that message 'til I was outta the house, didn't have time to go back and change."

"Change what? You're stunning as always."

Chris looks up from his menu. "Simon, this is the kind of news that warrants a little warning. 'Hey, man, Tom Cruise is coming to lunch, try _not_ looking like you just rolled outta bed. Shave your fucking face and don't wear that shirt with the hole in the armpit.' You don't just spring Tom Cruise on people, it's inconsiderate. Look at me, I'm wearing my nerd glasses and everything…" Chris picks up a spoon and tries to look at himself in it. "Look at my hair. I look like a fucking rooster."

"Yeah, but a sexy, nerdy rooster."

"Hmph."

"Did you wear a shirt with a hole in the armpit?"

Chris puts the spoon down. "That's not the point. _This_ is not a meeting-Tom-Cruise-for-the-first-time-ever shirt. This isn't a first-time-anything shirt. This is a comfy shirt. A casual shirt. This is a hanging-out-with-someone-who's-seen-you-naked shirt."

Simon grins. "I've seen you naked, have I?"

"Well, you know. You're the platonic equivalent of someone who's seen me naked." Chris arches one of his impressive eyebrows at Simon. "Or _are_ you?"

The question, however playful, makes Simon turn serious. "Listen, Chris, as much as I enjoy our foreplay, do me a favor and don't talk like that in front of Tom."

"What, afraid I'll embarrass you?"

"No, he's just not interested in the homoerotic flirt-stravaganza that is our relationship."

Chris grins. "You think I'm gonna make your new man jealous."

"No, it's just, you know, he doesn't know what I'm like with you. I want to ease him into it."

Chris nods knowingly. "Yeah, you think he'll be jealous. Hey, it's cool. I'm flattered that you think I'd be a threat to him. Frankly, if you'd dumped me for anything less than Tom Cruise, I'd have been insulted."

"Chris, come on –"

"You really think I'm about to pass up an opportunity to make Tom Cruise jealous of _me_? No fucking way!"

"I can't bloody well take you anywhere. Oh, hey, I bet I know who wants to say hello." Simon pulls his phone from his pocket.

Chris groans. "You and that fucking phone."

"The iPhone can do many things, Christopher, but fucking isn't one of them."

"It's got that nice vibrate setting, though."

"Why do you think I carry it in my _front_ pocket? Hold still, I'm taking your picture." Simon holds the phone up, centering Chris's image on the screen. "Say hello to Twitter."

Chris sighs and says, "Hi, Twitter, Chris Pine here. It'd be nice if you'd relinquish control of Simon's brain for a while so he can have a normal conversation with a real person for, like, five minutes."

"Shut up and smile, Pine."

Simon sees him first; Simon is positioned so that he is facing the plate glass window that looks in on the restaurant and he can just make out the familiar shape of Tom being escorted out to the patio by one of the hostesses. She leads him out into the sun, and when the light hits him, _bam_ , movie star. He spots Simon and smiles and, _bam_ , movie star to the tenth power.

"Is he here?" Chris asks, twisting around to check. "Oh, shit." He puts his menu down and stands just as Simon does.

Tom thanks the hostess with the warmest smile and a gentle touch on her arm, then turns to Chris to greet him with a handshake. "It's really great to meet you," he says.

"It's an honor to meet _you_ ," Chris replies.

"Simon's told me a lot about you. He thinks very highly of you. You were great, by the way, in _Unstoppable_."

The color actually drains from Chris's face. "Really?"

"Absolutely. Really strong performance. I was riveted."

Chris is still shaking Tom's hand as he turns to Simon with a look of mild shock and says, "Tom Cruise saw my movie."

"Yes, I heard," Simon says. "Now give Tom Cruise his hand back."

Chris finally stops shaking Tom's hand and lets it go. "Right. Sorry."

"No problem. Hey, you," Tom says, turning his radiant smile on Simon. Simon smiles back and gives him an awkward wave, then wonders why he's not hugging Tom hello. He's about to make a move to do just that, but then Tom is taking his seat, so Simon does the same. If they weren't dating, a hello hug would've been fine, but now it's as if an invisible barrier has sprung up between them. There is now a line that each man hesitates to cross in mixed company.

A strange sadness settles in Simon's chest. He reminds himself that it isn't anybody's business what's going on between him and Tom. It's good that no one knows. But of course, greeting a friend like a normal person has nothing to do with that. He should have hugged the man. The fact that he second-guessed himself makes him seethe.

Throughout lunch, Simon watches Tom and Chris. Chris is normally so cool, even aloof at times, but with Tom he's all child-like wonder and an unending string of questions. He asks Tom everything, from questions about his roles to how he deals with paparazzi with such grace. As Tom patiently answers Chris's questions, Simon forgets to keep his guard up and actually gazes at him. Tom is gesticulating as he speaks, in that elegant way of his. He holds Chris's gaze as he imparts his wisdom, and Chris looks riveted. Tom can charm anyone, it's what he does, he draws people in. Even now, Simon wants to be closer. He wants to reach out and take Tom's hand, but he knows he can't and it pisses him off. He should be able to. But that's not how Tom's world works.

The more he looks at Tom, the more he wants to touch, so Simon looks around the patio instead. Barely a second goes by before he locks eyes with a young man at another table who is whispering to his female friend and pointing at Simon, Tom and Chris. To his credit, the man averts his eyes when Simon's meet his, but when Simon shoves his sunglasses on his face so he can watch them more covertly, the man starts staring again. The woman glances over too, surveys the table, freaks out and picks up her phone, presumably to inform her online friends of what's happening. The man picks up his phone too, but his intentions are slightly more nefarious; he aims the phone's camera lens and begins taking pictures.

"What a prick," Simon mutters.

"What was that?" asks Chris.

Simon looks to his companions again. They're both watching him. He takes off his sunglasses, clears his throat. "We've got an amateur paparazzo over there."

Chris and Tom have a quick look.

"They're just too polite to come over and ask for a picture," Tom says.

"'Polite' isn't the word I'd use," Simon retorts. "Asking's always better than taking a picture without permission. I'm happy to pose for pictures for those who ask. We're people, not monkeys in a zoo."

"It's like they think we can't see them or something," Chris adds.

"Think we're not human, more like."

Tom watches Simon closely, quietly checking up on him. Simon's been awfully quiet until now, and when he finally breaks his silence it's to complain. He's not being terribly good company. He should say something witty, if only to show Tom he's okay.

"Maybe if I fling my poop at them they'll knock it off," he says, jerking his head toward their sneaky fans.

Chris snorts out a laugh, then says, "Speaking of, I gotta hit the little boy's room. 'Scuse me."

Tom watches him go, then says to Simon, "You're tense." Apparently Simon's brief burst of comedy hasn't appeased him.

"I'm fine," Simon says.

"What was that weird hello when I got here?"

"Oh, that. Yeah, I may have panicked a bit."

"We can still touch each other in public, Simon, no one's going to call the gay police for a simple hug."

"The gay police? Does that squad include a construction worker and a Native American? Because I don't think that's law enforcement you're talking about there."

"Simon, seriously."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I hesitated and realized it too late, you were already sitting down, and I felt like an idiot, but it was too late to fix it."

Simon feels a hand touch his thigh beneath the table. He tenses and looks wide-eyed at Tom.

"You have got to relax," Tom whispers.

"Sure. I'm always relaxed when people feel me up in public directly in front of an idiot with a camera phone."

"He's stopped taking pictures, they're not even looking anymore. Do we need to talk?"

The hand on Simon's thigh is burning a hole through his jeans. He fidgets. "I'm not sure I know what I've signed up for," he mumbles.

Tom nods, retracts his hand and sits back. "We definitely need to talk."

"Later. Chris'll be back any minute."

"Yeah." Tom takes out his phone and starts tapping the screen. "Sorry, I just need to send a quick message for him."

"For who, Chris?"

"Yeah. He mentioned he'd love to work with a director I happen to know pretty well. You know him too, actually. Figured I'd do him a favor and get the ball rolling for him."

When Chris returns and takes his seat, Tom says to him, "Steven should be getting in touch with you, hopefully soon. I'm sure he's busy, but at the very least you should get a call from his people within the next week or so."

"Steven?" Chris asks, looking confused.

"Spielberg."

Chris stares at Tom with his mouth hanging open, then stares at Simon in much the same way.

"Told you," Simon says. "Powers. He's got them."

"It's nothing," Tom insists. "Simon, you would've done the same."

"Oh, no, old Stevo doesn't take calls from me anymore, not since I told him the fourth _Indiana Jones_ was shit."

Tom raises his eyebrows at Simon, but smiles too, knowing Simon is joking. Simon gives him a soft smile in return and their eyes linger on each other. The world blips out of existence for a moment, just drops away like a fake background on a sound stage. Simon is actually a little startled when a car honks in the distance, reminding him that they are not, in fact, alone in Tom's house.

Tom's cheeks flush just slightly as he gazes fondly at Simon, and Simon wonders if Tom feels the same way when Simon is funny that Simon feels when Tom, well, does anything. Does it make him want to be nearer, make him want to take Simon's hand and be unapologetically in love in front of the world? Simon feels that way now just looking into Tom's eyes. He drops his gaze, lest Chris notice all the dopey-eyed staring.

Oblivious to the exchange of glances, Chris laughs nervously. "Tom, I… thank you, really, but I never meant for you to –"

"It's no trouble," Tom assures him, looking at him now. "I'm happy to do it."

"Holy shit," Chris says to himself. Then to Tom, "Thanks, man, that's incredible of you."

"No problem."

They continue chatting for a while. Simon just listens and quietly watches Tom. His silence doesn't go unnoticed; Chris finally turns to him and asks, "'Sup with you today?"

"Just afraid of making an arse of myself in front of the royalty," Simon replies, nodding at Tom. "I'm sorry, I know I'm awful company. It's not you, I've just got a lot on my mind."

"Such as?"

"No, it's nothing I can really talk about," Simon says just as movement catches his eye. He glances to his right and sees a young couple rising from their seats and leaving. They are both women – one brown-skinned with a halo of wild, tight curls, the other pale-skinned with a mousy-brown pixie cut. Simon wouldn't even have known they were together if not for the holding of hands that is now happening as they wander away. He actually scowls as he looks away from them, because they can do in public what he can't. He instantly feels like an ass for his petty jealousy. It isn't easy for them, either, he reminds himself. And they're out and open, in front of the world, while he is being forced to hide. They're fighting the fight while he is doing nothing.

His eyes land squarely on a man with a camera next. He is "hidden" around a corner across the street. His head and camera are peeking out at them. Simon wonders how long the pap has been there. It is now that more camera-wielding men become obvious to Simon, standing amongst the regular people, not even bothering to hide. They're right out in the open, snapping away.

Simon looks away and fidgets in his chair. He is acutely aware of the megastar presence at the table with him. It's like there's an aura that radiates off of Tom. He can't help it. It almost isn't the paparazzi's fault; they're simply moths to Tom's flame.

"Oh, there's a look," Chris says, examining Simon's face. "Seriously, whatever it is, get it off your chest. Rain clouds are gravitating to you. I cannot get these shoes wet."

Simon looks to Tom, who is quietly watching him with concern. His right hand rests on the table, index finger tapping. He is fidgety. He wants to move that hand over to comfort Simon with a touch, but he doesn't because it will only make Simon jumpier, and besides, Tom's probably noticed all the paps by now too.

"Do you ever just get sick of the bullshit?" Simon asks, addressing both of them. "Everybody thinks everything is their business, everybody wants a piece, everybody thinks you owe them something, and what you do in private directly affects _their_ lives, _their_ children, _their_ happiness. And there's a fine line between being a private person and simply alienating people with your aloofness, because this business is all about putting arses in the seats. It's all about the promise, the little flicker of hope in every moviegoer, every television viewer, every magazine reader, that little flicker that must be nurtured and kept burning. It could be you, you who's still looking for your white knight, you could be the next Mrs. Pine, yes, you. That's what your publicist wants your fans to think, you know. Talent isn't enough, quality isn't enough, throwing yourself off a fucking building take after take isn't enough. It's about the fantasy. Yes, he's straight and a proper Christian and he wants to have babies and he could be yours if you just go see his movies like a good little consumer. Showing the audience that the dream is out of their grasp just isn't acceptable. What if you and I wanted to date each other?" he asks Chris. "What then?"

Chris's eyebrow go up. "You and me?"

"Yeah."

"Simon," Chris says out of the corner of his mouth. "I thought you said not in front of the T-O-M-C-R-U-I-S-E."

"Answer the question. What if we were interested in each other? What would that situation look like in the world we live in? Would you come out? Would you even want to? I mean, wouldn't it feel a bit like you were being forced out? Or would you stay closeted? Would you feel like you were a coward if you did?"

 _"Damn,"_ Chris says, recoiling a bit. "Where's all this coming from?"

"I…" Simon fidgets, looks from Chris, to Tom, then back again. He's said too much. It had all just come tumbling out. He'd finally reached his breaking point.

"He's become very aware of what I go through with the tabloids," Tom chimes in. He glances at Chris, then looks back to Simon as he says, "All the speculation, the lies, the prying into my private life. He's a little indignant on my behalf."

Not exactly a lie. Not at all; the way the media treats Tom is a constant thorn in Simon's side, but Tom didn't have to say anything just now. He didn't have to come to Simon's aid. Simon tries not to look too touched.

"And we've got friends who are _actually_ dealing with it," Simon adds, speaking to Chris, putting the emphasis on the 'actually' to imply that neither he, nor Tom, really have to deal with being gay in Hollywood. "Some of them have come out, some haven't, but the thing is, either way I just feel like the decision isn't really theirs. I feel like they're being forced, by the media, into whatever choice they end up making; staying closeted because of homophobia and because people are too fucking nosy, or coming out because at some point you realize everybody already knows and you just look stupid lying about it. It's like the choice about your very own private life is completely taken away from you."

Chris exhales, puffing out his cheeks as he thinks. "Well, to be fair, I don't think that's why actors come out."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Right, right, um… I honestly don't know. The whole thing's kinda daunting."

"And isn't that just fucking sad? It's not your fault. It's the world. It's a fucking mess. We can't even be honest about how bloody tall we are! It's a bit stupid, isn't it? It's the twenty-first fucking century. How is that even possible given how much progress we _haven't_ made?" Simon crosses his arms and slumps in his seat. "Bullshit, all of it. Fucking bullshit."

"But tell us how you _really_ feel," says Chris.

"Very funny."

"Seriously, where's all this coming from? Everything all right at home, buddy?"

"Sometimes it all just hits me, you know?"

"It is a fucked-up world."

"Mm," Simon grunts.

Chris leans back in his chair, gazes off up the street. He licks his lips, tilts his head from side to side as though mentally weighing options. He gets a little twinkle in his pretty eyes and a playful smile touches his lips as he says, "Yeah, I might come out for you."

Simon grins despite his sour mood. "Oh, really?"

"Sure. You're a peach, Peggster." And Chris gives Simon another wink.

"Well, I'd definitely come out for him," Tom says to Chris, watching Simon with a smile.

Chris gives Simon an impressed look, as though he didn't expect Tom Cruise to want to joke about such things.

"That would probably be a bad idea for you," Simon pointedly says to Tom, remembering their coming-out talk from the night before.

"And why's that?"

"Because you're Tom Cruise, that's why." Simon pauses, glances around to look across the street again. The paps are still there, unabashedly snapping away, but there is someone else there now. He's not with the paps. At first glance, he seems to be a regular person, but he's too familiar. He's sort of off to the side on his own, pacing before a boutique and talking on his phone. He is tall, older, with dark, swept-back hair.

Simon squints. It couldn't be. The man is wearing sunglasses, but it definitely looks like the mysterious David from Tom's kitchen that morning. He seems upset, he is gesticulating wildly with his right hand while holding the phone with the other. He then lowers the phone from his ear and begins tapping at the screen with his thumb.

Simon manages to maintain his cool as he looks at his companions again. He meets Tom's eyes and finds Tom staring at him questioningly.

"See that back there?" Simon says, jerking a thumb back toward the paps across the street. "That's why you can't – er, couldn't come out. They'd eat you alive."

Simon was hoping to draw Tom's attention to more than just the paps, but if Tom noticed the David look-a-like, he doesn't let on. "Just look at that face," Tom says to Chris, playfully ignoring Simon's words. "How sweet is he?"

"Cute as a bug's ass," Chris says with a smirk; he's enjoying this way too much to notice how sincere Tom is being.

Tom turns to him, leans close, says rather conspiratorially, "He snowboards, you know. Used to skateboard when he was younger. What do you think that does to a man's backside?"

"Could bounce a quarter off it, I'll bet."

"Exactly."

"I hate you both so much," Simon says, but with a smile.

"Hey, this is what happens when you introduce the new guy to the ex," says Chris.

"I've seen this before," Simon says, shaking his finger at them. "This is exactly what happens on _Doctor Who_ anytime companions meet each other. Rose and Sarah Jane. Martha and Donna. Actually, their gossip is far less flattering, but no less embarrassing."

"That's cute, when he goes all nerdy like that," Tom says to Chris.

"Yeah, it's like he's trying to turn you off, but he just ends up doing the opposite," Chris agrees.

"Okay, that's enough – _check, please_!" Simon calls.

Lunch ends. Tom insists on paying for everything and no amount of protesting from Chris can change his mind. Simon doesn't even try; he knows it's hopeless. Simon hugs Chris goodbye and is again struck by how easily he can do this with someone he's not sleeping with. Chris even gives him an affectionate pat on the ass as he departs and Simon thinks nothing of it. Someone might see, might take a picture, might publish it with a scandalous headline, but Simon couldn't care less. He and Chris aren't together. The further away from the truth people are, the more comfortable he is.

"If he liked men, he'd be with you," Tom says as they stroll away from the restaurant.

"Who, Chris?"

"He thinks the world of you."

"It's just playful. You don't play-flirt like that with someone you're really interested in. You clam up and get all tongue-tied and stupid. It's too easy with me and him, there's no tension, it's all just silliness."

"Well, he's straight, so there _wouldn't_ be tension."

"That's not the poin… never mind."

"So."

"So."

"Realtor?"

Simon hesitates and glances around. Yes, he can blend in anywhere, but Tom can't, and Simon notices people noticing Tom again. Some of them look to Tom's left to squint at Simon, trying to work out if he's "somebody" too. There is no anonymity when you're with Tom. Simon feels fidgety, rubs at the stubble on his jaw, at the back of his neck, fusses with his cap.

"You know that weird phenomenon where you feel more alone with people than you would if you were actually by yourself?" he asks. "They've probably got a word for it in some other language. I should look it up."

"You want me to go."

"I don't want you to go. You just feel further away standing next to me than you would if you weren't here at all."

They stop walking and shift to the side, toward a coffee shop, to get out of the way of passersby. Simon tries to ignore the paps that have followed them; they scuttle along the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, like nosy, one-eyed crabs.

"Everyone's looking at you," Simon murmurs.

"No one's looking at me. This is L.A., everyone's used to people like me."

"No, they're looking. I can't even count how many paps I've spotted since you turned up."

"The attention bothers you."

"It's not the attention, it's how the attention changes my behavior. You're right in front of me and I can't even fucking touch you. I don't want to be reminded all day of what I'm not allowed to do. It's annoying."

Tom smiles faintly and nods. "You want me to go."

"I don't _want_ you to go."

"Okay, you _need_ me to go."

Simon sighs, feeling guilty. "It's just easier on my own sometimes. I can be a bit of a solitary creature, you know."

"Is that the only thing that was bothering you at lunch? The attention?"

Simon hesitates. "This isn't the place to be having this discussion."

"I don't want us going our separate ways with all this tension."

"Well…" Simon trails off, sighs. "What was with the protein shake this morning?"

"The what?"

"Thorne and his protein shake. He said you insisted. And the heart-shaped omelet? I mean, really? It didn't need to be heart shaped. The sentiment was obvious enough: 'Hey, Simon, I was thinking of you and wanted to do something nice and, also, I know you're increasing your protein intake these days, so here, eat some eggs.' That's pretty clear as it is. Making it heart-shaped was just overkill and frankly obnoxious."

Tom is cautious as he opens his mouth to speak. "So, this is about food?"

"No, it's about… control and… your staff and my privacy. I feel like they know everything about me, things I've never even told you. Why does Thorne know my inseam? What's that about?"

"He's one of my assistants, he needs to know these things. I like to be prepared."

"For gift giving."

"Well, yeah. You know how I am."

"And Minnie? A doggie spa?"

"I thought it would be a nice treat for her. Get her out of the house for a few hours so maybe she wouldn't notice how long we'd both be gone today."

"She's barely been here a day and you've already hijacked her brain. She barely said hello to me this morning, too busy with her new friends and all that attention. She's an innocent, she doesn't know what she's getting into. First it's all shiny lights and celebrities and doggie spas, next thing you know she's turning tricks on Craigslist for Milk Bones."

"Okay," Tom sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume you're still being serious." He looks Simon dead in the eye and says, "Simon? You're losing your shit."

"It's just the flowers and the jet and the heart-shaped food and the dog spa and waking up to five hundred people in the house who won't let me do anything on my own and now the paps everywhere. It's all a bit much. And who the hell is David?"

"David?"

Tom is about to continue when a pair of young women approach. Their attention is focused on Tom.

"Are you…?" they ask.

"Who?" Tom asks with a charming smile.

They giggle and reply, "You know. _Him_. Tom Cruise. You look just like him."

"You know what? You'd be surprised how often people say that to me."

Tom finally confirms his identity and the girls have a mini freakout. He graciously signs things for them and then, like a good boyfriend, draws attention to his companion.

"You of course are familiar with the incomparable Simon Pegg," he says as he finishes signing a small Hello Kitty notepad for the girl called Megan and hands it back.

"Wait, _what_?" asks Megan as she looks at Simon in stunned disbelief. The other girl looks at him too, but her expression is more confused than anything else.

Megan's mouth drops open, her eyes widen. Her hands begin to flail and she says breathlessly to her confused friend, "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! SHAUN OF THE DEAD! Remember, I made you watch it with me!" She turns back to Simon. "I cannot even believe… oh my god, I can't even… with your hat and sunglasses on, I didn't even notice… HOLY SHIT HOW ARE YOU BOTH HERE RIGHT NOW OH MY GOD?!"

Simon smiles, turns on his detached charm and makes easy small talk. "Well, we knew you'd be here, of course. Had to meet you. I'm a big fan of your last album called _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod_. Brilliant stuff."

"Oh my god," she groans, covering her face with her hands.

"She's in love with you," the second girl says meekly to Simon.

"Oh my god, Jenna, shut _up_!"

"You've got excellent taste," Tom informs Megan.

After getting a quick picture, the girls go on their way, squealing what Simon supposes are words as they head down the sidewalk. The high-pitched commotion they caused has drawn even more attention to Tom and Simon. The two of them begin walking again.

"Always the daredevil," Simon says.

"What?" Tom asks innocently.

"'You've got excellent taste'? You might as well have grabbed my crotch right in front of them."

"Maybe next time."

Simon smiles and shakes his head at that, then says, "You know, you don't have to do that. Draw attention to me like that. They were focused on you. It was fine. I don't need the attention."

"Implying that I do?"

"No, that's not… Don't put words in my mouth. I just meant that you're a little more, shall we say, shiny than I am. You're easier to spot. I don't care, I like blending in."

"You deserve the recognition."

"I like being able to walk down the street without being noticed."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"No, don't…" Simon sighs, feeling like his words are being twisted. Finally, he simply says, "Thank you. That was nice of you."

Silence falls and tension descends again. They're going to have to get back to their conversation, but Simon doesn't want to be the one to start it up again. He feels like he's being a nag and he hates it.

But finally Tom asks, "What were we talking about before?"

"David," Simon replies.

"Right. What about him?"

"You're hellbent on doing this now, aren't you?"

"Is there a problem with him?"

"No. I dunno, maybe. I've actually never seen him before."

"I'm sure you have."

"No, I haven't. I recognized every single member of your staff this morning, even if I didn't remember all their names, but David was completely unfamiliar to me."

"Okay. So what?"

"So, who is he? Thorne says he's your 'spiritual adviser'. What's that mean?"

Tom stops, so Simon does too. They are now standing in front of a little vintage clothing shop. Tom cocks his head, now looking closely into Simon's eyes. "What do _you_ think it means, Simon?"

Simon's busted. He is accusing Tom of something and Tom knows it. "We've never really discussed your faith, have we?"

Tom nods. "That's true, we haven't. We were busy getting to know each other in other ways."

"Which was all lovely, but this is sort of important."

"You didn't answer my question. What is it you think David is there for?"

Simon sighs. "I dunno, Tom, your entire life is a bit rigid, isn't it? It's scheduled and regimented and there isn't a whole lot of room for trial and error."

"And?"

"And… you're not getting any younger and you have an image to uphold and maybe… maybe your people have always sort of helped you along in that regard."

"Meaning?"

"Do I really have to spell it out?"

Tom crosses his arms. "I'd like it if you did."

Simon chooses his words carefully. "I don't fit into your life. Obviously. I mean, gender aside, I'm just not the sort of person they want you to be romantically linked with."

Tom is frowning now. "Who's 'they'?"

"You know who 'they' are. You're their figurehead, whether you wanted to be or not. You uphold their ideals and show the world the face of a happy, healthy, successful member of their organization. Your life is supposed to represent _them_. I think David has suddenly turned up because you're getting serious about me and he wants to make sure I'm not an undesirable. Even if you don't come out, you're spending an awful lot of time with me and people are gonna notice that we're at least close friends."

Tom smiles a sad sort of smile. "I don't know what to say to that."

"Well, let's start with whether or not it's true."

"If I say no, will you believe me?"

Simon can't answer that. He winces at his own silence.

"The media," Tom says, "is a powerful thing, I know –"

"Oh, stop it, I'm not being affected by the fucking media."

Tom's eyebrows go up in disbelief.

"I'm not! I've never seen David before, he was just standing there, glaring at me."

"He always looks like that."

"Yeah, that's what Thorne said, but somehow I'm not appeased. Does he follow you?"

"What?"

"David. Other members of your staff, do they follow you around, keeping an eye on things. I thought I saw –" Simon stops because he knows he sounds crazy. Tom knows it too and doesn't let it drop.

"You're serious. You think you saw him today?"

"It just seems like kind of a huge coincidence. I've never seen the man before, and now suddenly I've seen him twice in the same day in two different locations."

"That's what happens when you become aware of something, you start seeing it everywhere. Or _think_ you are. You're just being paranoid."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

Tom deflates a bit, like he's given up. A part of Simon wants to scream at him, _No, don't give up, keep going, convince me I'm mental._ Because Simon really is starting to feel a bit nuts and he wants nothing more than to be wrong.

Tom retrieves his phone from his pocket. "You've gotta go meet that realtor," he mumbles. "I'll call the car to come get you."

"Tom, I don't need the fucking car, I can just get a cab," Simon sighs.

Tom looks at him. "Let me do this for you," he says quietly, seriously. His gaze is a little pleading, a little sad. It's like he feels that he's failed somehow and just wants a chance to do something right. Simon has to look away from him. He can't see that look on Tom's face without his stomach twisting up with guilt. Tom takes that as a go-ahead and calls for the car that brought Simon to the restaurant.

"I'll see you back at the house," Tom says when he gets off the phone. "Come here." He holds an arm out, inviting Simon into a hug. Simon hesitates again, feels eyes, like lasers, all around them. He then frowns at himself, calls himself a few choice words in his head and steps forth to hug Tom goodbye. He is making a conscious effort to relax, but he's still tense. He's giving Tom the sort of hug that he himself has received from men who aren't comfortable hugging other men, complete with awkward little back pat as though he isn't sure what to do with his hands.

He pulls away afterward, but Tom doesn't let him go. He holds Simon in his arms, looks into his eyes. "See? The world didn't end, did it?" he asks.

"Not that I can tell, no," Simon mutters.

"I love you."

Simon glances down and gently pulls himself out of Tom's grasp. "Likewise. I'll see you back at the house." At that, he turns and hurries away, toward the black car approaching in the distance.

End of chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

Simon lets the realtor guide him from place to place, but he's barely present. She does her spiel for each house and apartment, talking each one up like it's a son or daughter she's trying to marry off. Every place looks the same, sort of sterile and a little too big for one man. Simon was wrong about Tom's place; it isn't perfect. It is warm and lived-in and inviting compared to these places. It is comfortable. It has Tom.

 _And twenty or so of Tom's staff at any given time,_ Simon reminds himself. Shit.

When Simon arrives at the house hours later, it is mostly empty. Simon can still hear a few voices, but not nearly the cacophony that had greeted him that morning. Thorne is still zooming around the first floor with a phone pressed to his face as though he's been stuck in a time loop since Simon left him. When he spots Simon, he comes to an abrupt stop, says something to whoever is on the phone, then hangs up and comes toward Simon despite Simon's insistent pantomime indicating that he really shouldn't trouble himself.

"Welcome back, Mr. Pegg," says Thorne, still chipper as ever. He takes a breath to say something else, but then seems to think better of it and says instead, "You probably don't want to know, do you?"

"If it isn't necessary, then no, I don't."

Thorne taps his temple with his index finger. "I'm learning."

"Good boy. Where's Tom?"

"Upstairs in the bedroom. He's expecting you."

"Great, thanks."

"Oh, Mr. Pegg?"

Simon has barely gotten two steps away. He turns back.

"If you don't mind my saying, sir…" Thorne draws near enough so he can almost whisper, "I noticed you seemed a bit tense this morning."

"Not to diminish your sleuthing skills, but I imagine you would have to be deaf and blind to not have noticed. I was a bit caught off guard by all the attention, that's all."

"Right, I gathered, sir. I just hope the experience hasn't put you off of staying here. Please tell me if I'm overstepping my bounds –"

"I'm fairly certain you are, but go on."

"Well, sir… you make Mr. Cruise quite happy. I know worrying about his personal life isn't in my job description, but when you work closely with someone for months, you grow to care about them, and he's noticeably happier with you here."

Simon can't think of a negative thing to say to that. It probably isn't Thorne's place to be saying such things, but he cares about his boss's well being. Nothing wrong with that. "That's kind of you. It's nice to see the sort of folks he's got working for him."

"Thank you, sir. I hope I wasn't too pushy this morning. In the hopes of making your stay here a little less stressful, I took the liberty of procuring some hard-to-find items for you, things you wouldn't normally think to look for in America." Thorne steps away and beckons for Simon to follow. Simon is eager to get upstairs to Tom, but he's also curious as to what Thorne is on about. He follows the young man into the kitchen.

As per Thorne's type-A personality, he's gone overboard and brought every cliché English food item, from marmite to Bovril, into the house. Simon hasn't particularly been missing much of the things he finds, but he nods encouragingly as Thorne shows him everything. Then Thorne gets to a box of shortbread cookies. Simon is about to protest, knowing how quickly he can go through a box of cookies just by himself, but then notices the brand, the telltale shape of the cookies in the picture on the box.

"Haven't had these since I was a kid," he says, taking the box from inside the cupboard. "No, wait, that's not true. Nearly forgot, I had loads of these in college. Still, that was a long time ago. Great hangover food; soaks up alcohol like an alcoholic sponge."

"I was hoping you'd be pleased."

"Well, yeah, but… I really shouldn't have them at all. It's pure sugar."

"I won't tell anyone." Thorne leans in again and whispers, "Our little secret. I can hide them for you. Mr. Cruise never even goes in this cupboard."

Simon laughs. "Terrible influence, you." He turns the box over in his hand, looking fondly at it, then puts it back inside the cupboard and smiles at Thorne. "Thanks, you didn't have to go to the trouble. Must've been a bit of a jaunt, finding this stuff."

"Oh, no trouble at all! My family's British. I've still got lots of family back in England, so a lot of this stuff is familiar to me. I remember visiting my grandmother when I was little and she always had that exact shortbread in her kitchen."

"You know, this is probably the most relaxed I've seen you yet, standing here recounting childhood memories of your nan and biscuits."

Thorne shrugs. "Who doesn't love their nan, right?" At that, Thorne begins putting things away, back in the cupboard and the fridge.

"Listen," Simon says, "if I was short with you this morning, I apologize –"

"Oh, no, don't worry about it," says Thorne, pausing to frown at Simon and wave a hand at him as though trying to bat Simon's apology away. He is standing before the open fridge, with several items cradled in the crook of one arm. "You'd just woken up, you weren't expecting us, Mr. Cruise didn't tell you what was happening."

"Well, he told me his staff would take care of me. I should've known. Point is, thanks for everything. Really, you've been very helpful. And I don't mind your helpful little notes. Whatever you do for Tom, you can do for me too. I mean, if the alternative is your brain short circuiting or something."

Thorne smiles at that. "I'm sure we can work out a routine that works for you. You should head on up to Mr. Cruise. I've kept you far too long as it is."

Simon leaves Thorne and finds Tom in the bedroom. He's in the chair by the window with what looks like a script laid open on his lap and his little rectangular reading glasses on his nose. He looks up at Simon, over top of his glasses. His face is impassive, which drives Simon crazy. What's he thinking? Is he upset? Is he hurt?

"Hey," Simon says, stepping inside with his hands in his pockets.

"Hi," Tom replies quietly.

"Where's Minnie? I didn't see her when I came in."

"She should be around here somewhere. Probably outside, playing with one of the staff."

"Oh. How did her spa day go?"

"Didn't Thorne tell you?"

"I think he meant to, but I might've scolded him a bit earlier for over-sharing."

Tom nods. "I'm told everything went well. Minnie was very well behaved."

"That's my girl. Thank you for that, by the way."

"You're welcome. Did you find anything with the realtor?"

"I dunno. Maybe. I was barely paying attention, to be honest. I kept thinking about you and what happened and… I missed you more. Okay? When you weren't there, I missed you more. I guess that's just logic, isn't it?"

Tom closes his script, takes off his glasses. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, the glasses clutched in his hands. "What happened out there today? I've never seen you like that."

"Yeah," Simon says, wincing and rubbing at his forehead. "You know, Tom, I used to do a lot of drugs back in the day. The occasional paranoid episode is probably to be expected."

"I never thought I'd end up there with you."

Simon drops his hand from his face and looks at him.

"You doubting me like that, suspecting me. I never thought that would happen. I thought…" Tom trails off, but he doesn't have to finish the sentence. He'd thought Simon was different. That's what he was going to say.

Simon goes and sits on the bed, facing Tom. "It's intense around here, you know?" he says quietly. "And all this talk of coming out…"

"You had a change of heart about that, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Funny how the clear light of day can make things look different."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning last night I had a bit of faith in humanity."

"And today?"

"Humanity is a bunch of cunts."

"I see."

"They'll never leave you alone. You're trapped, and by extension so am I. We're not meant to be together."

"I didn't know you cared so much what other people thought."

"I didn't. I _don't_. I'm just not used to this sort of attention. I've never felt the public eye so heavily before."

Tom stays quiet, like he knows there's more Simon needs to say.

"I wanted to tell him," Simon goes on. "Chris. While you were talking to him, I kept staring at you, sort of admiring you. You have that effect on people, you know, you make people want to look, want to touch, and I have the added bonus of being in love with you. It's not easy, resisting that kind of pull. I just wanted to be near you, but I kept second-guessing myself like I never have with anyone else before. Like when I didn't hug you hello. That was stupid, and I realized it was stupid the second it happened. I felt stuck, trapped, suffocated by eyes and cameras.

"So, I got the urge to tell Chris about us because I knew he'd be happy, I knew he'd be supportive, I knew it would feel good to tell someone, like punching out a tiny pocket of freedom, an air hole within the suffocating bubble of the public eye. He's a good guy and I trust him. He's as protective of his privacy as I am of my own, I know he'd respect our secrets. I just wanted to blurt it out, or at least take your hand and show him. It was like I was holding my breath; the longer you do that, the more you want, the more you _need_ , to not be doing it anymore."

"You can tell him, Simon."

"No, it's not that simple. I trust him, but people are fallible. What if he slips up one day, speaks without thinking? Then what?"

Tom shrugs. "Then he slips up. It happens. I told you I'm ready for the secrecy to be over."

"I know, but…" Simon pauses again, sighs. His mouth becomes a thin, tight line, the focus of all his tension as anger bubbles inside him again. "More than anything else, I hate what this is doing to me. It's making it seem like I give a shit what people think, and I don't. This isn't about the fact you're a man or that you are who you are, it isn't about people finding out and judging me. It's about privacy. What we're building together belongs to us and I want to keep it as special and as sacred as possible. I don't want to just toss it out there like it doesn't mean anything. We'd just be chumming the waters.

"That's the problem with all of this, you know. It makes me feel unlike myself. There are aspects of my life now that make me act in ways that simply aren't me, and I don't want you to be one of those things. I want this relationship to be something that makes me _more_ me, a _better_ me. I want to be able to hold your hand when I bloody well choose, and fuck it, I want to show you off. You're a fucking god, in case you hadn't noticed."

Tom grins. "You can tell your friends about us, Simon. I trust your judgment."

Simon shakes his head. "I don't know. That's just it, I don't know. I should know this. It should be simple. I would tell the world to fuck off and then snog you good and hard in front of the entirety of it, but my life is changing and it's changing me and I just don't know anymore."

Tom finally stands and approaches, leaving his script and glasses on the chair. He sits next to Simon on the bed and takes one of his hands. "I missed you today too," is all he says.

"I'm a prick, I shouldn't have sent you away."

"No, don't say that. This is new to you. My life, it isn't normal. As surreal as your own life must seem to you at times, nothing's prepared you for this. I'm sorry about my staff this morning, I should've told them to stay out of your way."

"No, it's fine. I don't want to stop them doing their jobs. And thank you for all the things you had them do for me. It threw me a bit, I'm used to doing things for myself, is all."

"I'll warn you next time," Tom says with a smile.

Simon smiles back. "I'd appreciate that."

Tom's phone beeps then. He keeps hold of Simon's hand as he leans over a bit to grab the phone from his back pocket. He sees the number and smiles as he answers.

"Hey. Yeah, I'm home, I'm just here with Simon. Everything okay?… Oh, where is she?" He pauses for a few seconds, then says, "Hey, Precious, how are you?"

His daughter. Simon gently pulls his hand away and gets up, wanders away to give Tom a little privacy. He's thinking about leaving the room entirely when Tom calls to him. Simon stops and looks over his shoulder. Tom has twisted around and is watching him.

"She wants to say hi," Tom says, holding the phone out.

"Oh… all right," Simon says. He returns to Tom's side and takes the phone. "Hello?"

 _"Hi,"_ says the little girl's voice.

"Who's this?"

_"It's me!"_

"I don't know any 'me', sorry. Wrong number."

She giggles. _"Come on, Uncle Simon."_

Uncle? That's new. "Oh, right, right, right, I remember you. You're the little midget that runs around here all the time. I was wondering where you'd gone."

_"I'm with Mommy this week."_

"Yeah, how's that going? Found a boyfriend yet?"

 _"No!"_ she exclaims, clearly scandalized. _"Ew!"_

"Oh, boys aren't as bad as all that, are they? I'm a boy, you like me."

_"Yeah, but you're different. Uncle Simon? Will you be there when I get back?"_

"I think so, at least for a day or two."

_"Will you read to me?"_

Simon hesitates, glances down at Tom, who is watching him fondly. Tom always did enjoy watching Simon interact with his daughter. "That's something your dad probably wants to do when he sees you again."

_"I want you both to! I like the voices you do for the characters. Laurie's not as good at it as you."_

Her nanny. "Well, as unhappy as Laurie will be to hear that, I suppose something can be arranged."

Tom gets the phone back and talks to her for several more minutes, during which Simon tries to leave the room again but stops when Tom gestures him back over. Tom lays on the bed on his back and invites Simon to join him. Simon hasn't even taken his shoes off yet, so he toes them off now and crawls over to Tom, lies down against him, head on his chest, and listens to his breathing, his heart, to the soft joy in his voice as he talks to his daughter. They talk about school and her friends and the various troubles of a soon-to-be six-year-old's world. Simon can't shake the feeling that he shouldn't be hearing any of it, but Tom holds onto him snugly.

The call ends. Simon looks up at him.

"Looks like poor Laurie's been usurped as best story reader," Tom says.

"I didn't mean to. Didn't even know it was a competition."

"I'm sure she won't mind."

"She called me 'uncle'."

"Laurie?"

"No, the Munchkin. When did that start?"

"Not sure. Must've been Katie's idea. She has a thing about small children calling adults only by their first names, and you're too familiar by now to be called 'mister'."

"That's ridiculous. Her using my first name is fine. I'm not her uncle."

"I'm sure Katie's made that clear."

"I'm too familiar by now," Simon echoes, putting his head down again.

"Yeah. You're part of my life."

"Quite a few people in your life know about us."

"Just the essentials."

"No one you've told just because?"

"Just because?"

"Just because you wanted to. Not because they were your child's mother or your publicist or staff who spend more time in your house than you do. But just because you love them and trust them and wanted them to know."

Tom thinks for a moment. "I guess not. Not yet."

Simon is quiet, then says, "That's sad."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not."

"I'm friends with Katie. We love each other very much."

"Yeah, but there's still an obligation there. You told her because she has a right to know what goes on in the house her daughter lives in half the time, not because you love her."

"You haven't told anyone, either."

"Yeah, well… that's sad too." Simon winces at the lie.

Tom squeezes him and murmurs, "You can tell anyone you deem worthy of knowing. I trust you."

 _Say it,_ Simon thinks. _For fuck's sake, you stupid sod, tell him, he won't care, he'll be happy about it._ But Simon stays quiet and thinks about Nick, how easy it was to tell him about Tom and how difficult it apparently is to tell Tom about him.

"What were you reading?" Simon asks instead.

"Script. Next project."

"What's it about?"

"It's a remake. It's about an aging star who's sick of the bullshit."

"Sounds cheerful."

"Well, it _is_ a musical."

Simon raises his head to look at Tom again. "You sing?"

Tom shrugs. "I can carry a tune, but can I actually _sing_?… Well, we're gonna find out, I guess."

"You're fucking fearless."

"No. I just have a need that outweighs my fear, that's all." Tom examines Simon quietly for a moment, then strokes his cheek and whispers, "I wish I could hide in here with you all day."

Simon wants that too. After the hectic, disconcerting morning and afternoon, this is nice. "We've got a few more minutes, don't we?" he asks.

Tom smirks and his hand wanders down to stroke Simon's back. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"Are you thinking quick, dirty, very quiet sex?"

"Mm-hm."

"No, I was thinking about having a sandwich, actually."

"Shut up and kiss me already."

Even in harsh daylight, the safe cocoon of Tom's bedroom persists. This is why Simon didn't want anyone coming up here this morning; he didn't want anyone tainting the space or glimpsing their private world. He nearly shudders to think of how many other pairs of feet might be tromping through here when he's not around.

If he actually does shudder, Tom must chalk it up to the way he's kissing Simon now, deep and slow, as they shift onto their sides and get wrapped in each other's arms.

But as engrossed in each other as they are, Simon's knee-jerk reaction to any electronic beep is to jump up and grab for a phone. When Tom's phone beeps, Simon tenses in his arms, stops kissing, and a hand automatically goes down to feel for the reassuring rectangle in his pocket.

"It's mine," Tom says with a sigh, but he doesn't make a move to answer it. He just lies there, listening to the beeping, perhaps hoping it will stop.

"Aren't you gonna…?" Simon asks.

"It's Thorne."

The beep is no different than the beep when Katie had called. "How do you know? You haven't even looked."

"His beep is more high-strung than any other beep, I swear."

"Are you hoping he'll give up and go away? I'm pretty sure he knows how to climb stairs."

Now Simon's phone chirps. He and Tom look at each other.

"You wanna answer that, don't you?" Tom says. It's not really a question.

"I'm sure it's nothing, but… I do have a Q&A to do this evening over at Glamour Magazine's headquarters. Might be them calling now. I should probably go wash up and head out soon."

Tom's phone goes quiet, and a few seconds later Simon's does too. Neither of them moves.

"I wish you could stay," Tom whispers. "I don't like what the world does to you. When you come back you're always so tense, like you have to warm up to me all over again."

"You noticed it too, huh? It's not you, it's some stupid defense mechanism. I just shut down because I miss you so much and it hurts. There, I said it. Go on, get all sappy again."

Tom smiles sadly at that. "I don't want you to have to miss me."

"What's your solution? Keep me locked up here forever?"

Tom frowns. "Who told you that? Did David talk to you today?"

He looks dead serious for a few seconds before his mouth pulls into a mischievous grin. Simon pokes him in the ribs, making him curl up protectively and laugh. He uncurls a moment later to hug Simon again, pinning Simon's arms to his sides to stop his tickling. Things are about to go full-blown play-wrestling match when Tom's phone beeps again.

Tom sighs, his grip on Simon loosens.

"I gotta get that," he says, rolling away to grab his phone from the nightstand. Simon's phone chirps again too, as if the two phones are talking to each other.

Simon sits up as he retrieves his phone. He isn't sure who was calling before, but this call is from his sister.

"Hi," he says when he answers.

 _"Oh! Hey! I was about to leave a message, I thought you'd be too busy to answer,"_ says Kate Pegg, speaking loudly to be heard over background traffic noise.

"Was just on my way out, but I've got a minute. Still coming down?"

_"Yeah, just calling to tell you my flight gets in at six p.m., your time."_

"All right, I'll be there."

_"What're you up to?"_

"Oh, you know, this and that. I'm just with a friend."

_"Anyone I know?"_

"You could say that." Simon lowers his voice and says, "It's Tom Cruise."

_"…Are you fucking serious?"_

_No, I'm fucking Tom,_ Simon thinks. Aloud he replies, "Yeah, we're just hanging out."

 _"My big brother is 'hanging out' with Tom Cruise."_ There's a hint of pride in her voice as she says this. _"What's he like? You've never told me. How tall is he, really? Is he single?"_

"You can't have him, he's mine," Simon replies, knowing she'll think he's joking.

Tom's ears must be burning, because he scoots over to Simon's side and sits next to him. His call has ended; his phone is no longer in his hand.

 _"Surely, he needs a woman in his life,"_ Kate insists.

"He's too old for you," Simon says. "Besides, you're my little sister, you don't get to go out with boys. You stay a virgin forever. Did no one tell you?"

_"Rrrrright, sure. Virgin… mm-hm, yup."_

Simon smiles. "I'm hanging up now."

_"Tell Tom 'hi' from me!"_

"Tell him yourself." Simon lowers the phone from his face and puts Kate on speaker. "Say hi to my sister Kate."

"Hi, sister Kate," Tom says.

There's silence on the other end of the line for a moment, then Kate squeaks, _"H-hello?"_

"Hi. How are you?"

_"Heh-heh-heh… heh… oh my god, um… thank you. I mean, I'm fine, thanks. Sir. Mr. Cruise. Oh my god."_

"I'm looking forward to meeting you. Simon's told me a lot about you."

_"Oh my god."_

"Katy?" Simon says. "Breathe, love."

 _"Why didn't you tell me he was…"_ she hisses, whispering as though that will keep Tom from hearing her. _"I haven't… I can't… I'm not wearing any makeup!"_

"He can't _see_ you." Simon glances at Tom. "Poor thing's forgotten how a phone works. You've broken her."

 _"Oh my god, um…"_ She clears her throat and says more loudly as if she thinks Tom might be hard of hearing, _"I look forward to meeting you as well!"_

Simon rolls his eyes and takes her off speaker. "He's not deaf. Well, he might be now. Christ, woman."

_"You WARN me next time you're going to put me on speaker with TOM FUCKING CRUISE."_

"Warn _him_ , more like. Warn him to pop in a pair of earplugs."

_"Shut it, you… wait, am… am I still on speaker?"_

"No, I've spared him your dulcet tones for the time being."

_"You're a cock, you know that?"_

Simon grins. "Love you too, Katy Pig."

 _"Don't call me that. I'll see you tomorrow."_ She hangs up without saying goodbye. Simon is still smiling as he hangs up too.

"Did we upset her?" Tom asks.

"Nah, she's always like that. What'd Thorne want?"

Tom sighs. "Oh, my approval for this, my signature for that, my soul, my first-born. I have to go deal with things."

"Me too. Shit."

"It's a problem."

"What do we do?"

"Hide? Lock the door and stay up here forever until the world forgets we exist?"

"No good. Eventually you'll have to run off and scale the side of a building somewhere and I'll get a Jamba Juice craving and we'll completely blow our cover."

Tom thinks for a moment. "I suppose we could just go do what we have to do, get it over with, then come back here and reconnect." He touches Simon's back.

Simon shifts closer to him and murmurs, "Okay." They kiss again, and Simon is just about ready to lie down with Tom one more time, just for a moment. Logically he knows it will be like pulling teeth to get them out of bed again, but just a minute, just two minutes, just a few minutes more, he tells himself. What's it going to hurt?

But before they can lie down together, Tom breaks the kiss and looks at him. "Does she know?" he asks.

"Huh?"

"Your sister. Does she know about us?"

"Oh. No. I mean, I was gonna tell her, probably tomorrow at some point. Maybe. I hadn't really decided yet."

Tom nods, quietly taking that in. He takes Simon's hand again, this time lightly fingering the brown, braided leather bracelet Simon is wearing next to his large, stainless steel watch. Finally he says, "You should get going."

Simon opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, because clearly Tom's head cogs are spinning, but instead he simply says, "Yeah. I'm just gonna freshen up a bit." He gestures at Tom's en suite bathroom with his free hand.

"Yeah, of course. I better get downstairs before Thorne's head explodes." Tom smiles at him, kisses his cheek, then releases his hand and gets up to leave.

Simon doesn't get up until Tom has closed the door and walked away from the room, and even after he's gone, Simon sits there for a moment, feeling the awkwardness that now lingers in the air. He didn't have to ask Tom what was wrong because he already knows. Asking would have implied that Simon is far more obtuse than he is, and although playing dumb has served him well in past relationships, he doesn't want to play games with Tom. They're both too old for that, anyway.

But it should be obvious to Tom why Simon hasn't yet told Kate about their relationship. It's the same reason Simon's hardly told anyone at all. It's too soon, it's too big, it's too… _weird_. Simon's never been one to jump the gun. He needs to be sure before he goes making announcements.

 _But that's just it, isn't it?_ Simon thinks. _He's sure and you're still not. How do you think that's making him feel, you fucking wanker?_

"Shit," he says aloud. Well, it's not like he can rush this, make himself certain when he simply isn't yet. Tom will just have to be patient.

Simon thinks of Tom's daughter, her calling him 'uncle'. She's grown accustomed to having Simon around, at least part of the time. But that's what she's used to, anyway, having people around only part of the time, what with her mother and father living apart and Tom's schedule being so crazy sometimes. She's growing to love Simon. The feeling is mutual. And Katie, her mother, recognizes Simon's significance in Tom's life to the point of advising her daughter on what to call Simon. 'Uncle' wouldn't have been on the table at all if Katie didn't realize the depth of Tom's feelings.

He checks his watch. He's got to go. But before he gets up, he grabs his phone one more time and messages Nick:

> _"Relationships are hard."_

Nick replies while Simon is brushing his teeth:

> _"What's the matter, Pumpkin?"_

> _"We're just on different pages. He's nearly to the end and I've only just finished the prologue."_

> _"So, tell him to cool it. What's he want, to marry you and adopt little Ethiopian babies or something?"_

> _"I wouldn't be surprised. It's not that I don't think I'll ever be sure, I'm just not sure right now and I think I'm hurting him."_

Simon replies once more:

> _"I miss you. It's so easy with you. Always has been."_

> _"Well, I've always been a bit easy, haven't I?"_

> _"Slut. ;)"_

> _"You know if I could turn gay for any man in the world, it'd be you."_

Simon smiles at that, then replies:

> _"I know. Love you, Dumpling."_

> _"Love you too. You gonna be all right?"_

> _"Yeah, I'll be ok. Better now, actually. Thanks. xxx"_

> _"You tell ol' Tommy Boy to ease up. It's not a race. Blimey, that bloke's always in a hurry, innee? Can't remember a film in which he wasn't running his arse off."_

* * *

The car drops Simon off back at the house that evening, and as he approaches the front door he hears a familiar bark from behind. He turns to see Minnie scampering after him and Len trotting behind her with the handle of her extendable leash in his hand.

"So, you _do_ remember me, then," Simon says, crouching to pet her when she's near. She's fluffier and softer than usual and her neck has been adorned with a pink bow. She's as happy to see him as she's ever been, which only serves to clinch what Simon's been feeling the past couple of hours.

This is not his home, but it's not a bad place. The Q&A went smoothly and the staff at the magazine was friendly and fun. He met some fans outside the magazine's headquarters on his way out, some of whom were autograph hounds and paparazzi, but everyone was patient and gracious as he signed autographs and charmed everyone with a few quick one-liners. He left feeling so much lighter than when he'd gotten there, and now nothing seems quite as uncertain anymore. There's finally a light breeze in the air to cut through the heat of the day. And Minnie is happy to see him. Maybe he doesn't feel quite so out of place here.

He straightens up and strolls to the house with Len, making polite conversation with him. As soon as they get inside, they are set upon by Thorne, who shoos the dog walker away and takes Simon by the arm.

"Do you ever go home?" Simon asks.

"I just need to confirm…" Thorne says distractedly as he taps at his iPad. "There's nothing on this list that you're allergic to, correct?"

He shows Simon the screen. Simon checks it over and shakes his head.

"And are there _any_ allergies we need to be aware of? Anything at all?"

Simon considers saying 'hyperactive assistants', but decides against it. Thorne's not so bad. Simon's given him enough trouble for one visit. "No," he simply replies.

"Thorne, get off him," says Tom's voice from behind. Simon turns and sees Tom approaching from the hallway that leads to his office. "He just got back, let him breathe."

"But –"

"You've been great. You've done enough for one day. Go home. I'm serious, you're gonna give yourself an ulcer."

With anxiety pounding in the vein in his forehead, Thorne departs mumbling to himself with his iPad inches from his face.

Tom turns to Simon to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. "How'd the Q&A go?"

"Brilliant. You can read it if you want, it should up on their website by now."

"I'd love to. I'll have a look while dinner's being made. All these people will be gone soon, but Jessie's hanging around to cook for us. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Listen, I've been thinking. I feel really bad about how we left things this afternoon."

"Simon, it's fine –"

"No, it's not, I –"

Simon stops as a shadowy figure enters his periphery. David emerges from Tom's office. He comes down the hall in near total silence, like a harbinger of death, long-faced and dark-eyed, with his suit jacket folded over his left arm and hand.

"Tomorrow, then, Tom," he says as he draws nearer. His voice is nothing like Simon had expected. Simon thought it would be low and heavy, his words slow and methodical. But its register is more mid-range, even slightly nasal. He speaks sharply and quickly.

"Yeah, thanks," says Tom, patting David on the arm. "You've been a big help."

David nods at Tom, then turns his eyes on Simon, nods at him too and seems to make a point of looking Simon up and down before finally going to the door and exiting.

"What'd he want?" Simon asks. "Did he forget his scythe here this morning?"

"His what?"

"Looks a bit fourth-horseman-esque, doesn't he?"

Tom gives him a faint but indulgent smile. "We were just talking."

"Spiritual stuff."

"That, yeah. And other things. He's a close friend."

"Close enough to stalk you?"

"That wasn't him this afternoon," Tom says calmly. "He has more important things to do than tail me."

"This isn't what I wanted to talk about," Simon says impatiently. "I wanted to tell you that, while I haven't decided to move in for the next six months, I have decided that I want to be here, in this relationship with you. I thought I knew that before, but I've barely been here a day and I've been nothing but difficult and suspicious and… I don't want to be that way, I really don't –"

He stops again as more people emerge into the front foyer; five staff members, including Len, all on their way out. They say goodbye to Tom and Simon, then leave the house. Simon can't help but notice that Thorne is not among them, but he appears a moment later with a leather laptop bag slung across his narrow body. He strides toward the door like a bespectacled speed-walking stick insect and stops abruptly next to Tom to quietly rattle off a few tasks on his mental checklist that he didn't get to today.

"Tomorrow, Thorne," Tom gently insists. "Go home."

"That boy needs a good insert-filthy-sex-act-here," Simon remarks once Thorne has gone.

"That's everyone, I think," Tom says. "Just Jessie left in the kitchen." He steps closer and takes Simon in his arms. "Relax, okay? Let me take care of things. I'll keep my staff out of your hair from now on, I'll slip Thorne some tranquilizers or something, I'll make sure David doesn't try to have you murdered in the night. Okay? You really don't have to worry this much."

"Your world is a bit of a circus, Tom. You know? I just need some time to adjust."

"I'll make sure you'll only need to adjust a little. I'll take care of you."

Simon smiles. "I'm a big boy, I can't take of myself."

Tom shakes his head. "I need to. It's what I do."

Simon knows that much is true, so he decides to let Tom do what he does. Simon is escorted to the living room where he is seated on the sofa. Tom dashes off to the kitchen to grab Simon a drink and returns with not only a bottled water, but also a plate lined with grilled shrimp on skewers.

"We have appetizers," he announces as he comes and sits next to Simon. He sets the plate on the coffee table and plucks a skewer from it. He settles back to snuggle with Simon, who slips an arm around Tom's shoulders and allows himself to be hand fed.

"So, what about this Q&A of yours?" Tom says.

"Here, give me that and you take this," Simon says, trading his phone for the skewer. Tom wants to be romantic and cuddly now, so Simon shifts to put his back against his armrest, his right leg up on the sofa against the backrest. He makes a come-here motion with his fingers and Tom happily moves close and settles between Simon's legs, head back against Simon's chest. Tom begins browsing the page Simon already has loaded on his phone while Simon feeds him.

"Is this to promote your new movie?" Tom asks as he begins reading.

"Yep."

"The one you executive produced?"

"Yep."

"The one where you're running around in your underwear half the time?"

"That's the one."

Tom glances back and up, sidelong at Simon. "I'm definitely gonna have to see this movie," he murmurs.

"What's the matter, the live version not good enough for you?"

Tom grins and looks back down at the phone. "You are more than welcome to run around the house in your underpants."

"I'm sure your staff would appreciate that."

After reading for a minute, Tom asks, "Someone asked you about skincare?"

"It's a fashion magazine, what'd you expect?"

"Well, sure, but I didn't actually expect questions about your favorite skincare products."

"And why not? Why wouldn't you want to know how to achieve this kind of pasty radiance?"

Tom lays a hand on the arm Simon has draped across his body and caresses his skin, deliberately feeling. "Well, you're doing something right. I assume it has something to do with that big bottle of lotion on our bathroom counter."

"It might."

"I'll have to write that company a thank-you letter. I'll stock up for you next time I'm in Nordstrom."

"I don't need you to… right, right, I'm supposed to be easing up on you. Thank you, that's very sweet."

"Why's it so difficult for you to let people do things for you?"

"I'm used to doing things for myself. I pride myself on it."

"You're independent. I get that. But I pride myself on being able to provide for the people I love."

"'Cause you're a natural caregiver. I get that. I'm the same. Sometimes Nick has a rough day and needs his head massaged. Who do you think he goes to? Well… his wife, actually, but when she's out of town, though…"

"You can massage my head. I can be your Nick while you're here."

"Later when I don't have shrimp on my fingers."

"Okay, babe."

Tom goes back to reading, but Simon's mind gets stuck on 'babe'. "Is that a term of endearment or are you calling me a pig?"

Tom looks at him sidelong again. "Do you not like that? I can call you something else."

"No, no, it's fine. It just caught me off guard, is all. I guess I just got used to 'gorgeous'. Babe… babe… I could get used to it."

Tom relaxes again. "You can call me stupid pet names too if you want. I'd like it if you did, actually."

"I've called you 'love'."

"You call your sister 'love'. That doesn't count."

"How about 'sugar tits', then?"

Tom chuckles. "We'll work on it." He slowly scrolls down the screen, continuing to read until something makes him stop. "Chris Pine."

"Hm?"

"You answered 'Chris Pine'."

"I did? What'd he ask?"

"No, someone asked who your celebrity crush is."

"Oh… right, right, yeah, I remember. I had to say someone, didn't I?"

"And he's the first person you thought of?"

"Well, yeah, 'cause I just saw him today. I couldn't very well say you."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm shagging you. It's the same reason me moving in is a bad idea. If we don't want people to know, we shouldn't be leaving them clues. Besides, a crush is someone you like but aren't with. I'm with you."

Tom looks back at him again with a playfully quirked eyebrow. "Am I gonna have to fuck this guy outta your head?"

Simon considers. "Now you mention it, I might be just a tiny bit obsessed with him. Just a little, you know. A good fucking ought to show me."

"Done and done."

Jessie finishes preparing their meal, gives Tom a few last-minute instructions, then leaves them for the night. They spend an evening together much like the previous one, eating, talking, and cuddling afterward. Near the end of it, there is less urgency to get to bed than there was the night before. There's even time for Simon to take care of his nightly routine before Tom decides to pounce.

Changed for bed, Simon is in Tom's en suite bathroom. He has brushed and flossed, washed up and removed his contacts. Now he sits on the lid of the toilet with his left ankle resting on his right thigh. He's massaging lotion onto the sole of his foot when Tom, shirtless and beautiful, appears in the doorway. He crosses his arms, leans against doorjamb and watches Simon quietly with a smile.

Simon glances at him from underneath his lashes with a lopsided little grin. "Are you just gonna stand there like a creeper and watch me moisturize myself?"

"Mm-hm. Or else it gets the hose again."

Simon laughs. "Okay, creeper it is."

"Should I go?"

"No, no… didn't say that." Simon glances down sheepishly, shrugs a shoulder. "You can come in if you want."

Tom steps gingerly into the room, actually looking a little timid, like he thinks Simon might get spooked and bolt. Simon sits there with one leg crossed over the other and watches him with amusement.

"Come on, it's all right," Simon says.

Tom comes closer, stops before Simon and lowers himself to one knee.

"I have to say, when I pictured you proposing, I didn't see myself sitting on the loo," Simon quips.

"Oh, so you've pictured me proposing," Tom accuses. He lowers his other knee to the ground, gently takes hold of Simon's left leg and brings the foot down to his lap.

 _"No,"_ Simon says, sounding like a ten-year-old accused of liking a girl in his class. "It was a jo – oi!" He yelps when Tom brushes his fingertips up along the bottom of his foot. Simon instinctively tries to pull away, but Tom holds firm.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Tom laughs. "It was an accident. See? Nice and gentle." He begins massaging the unabsorbed lotion into Simon's skin.

Simon eyes him suspiciously for a moment, but then relaxes. Tom keeps massaging after the lotion is gone, working his thumbs against the arch and the ball of Simon's foot. He then carefully sets the foot down, picks up the other one and casts about, looking for something.

"Here," Simon says as he leans over and grabs a bottle from the floor to the right of the toilet. He pumps a dollop of lotion onto Tom's palm and Tom goes back to work. He looks content and actually starts humming, like this is just the sort of activity he'd do to unwind. It's like he's working wet clay on a pottery wheel.

"You were made for this sort of thing, weren't you?" Simon says. "This cutesy relationship stuff."

"Too much attention for you?"

"No, it's nice. You've got good hands, not that I didn't already know that."

Tom glances at him with a soft smile. "You do this everyday?"

"Everyday, twice a day. Unless some horny American attacks me before I can get to it. You don't want to see what happens if I miss too many days. I start shedding skin like a cobra."

Tom finishes massaging, lifts Simon's foot a bit, cradling the heel in one hand. He hunches over and begins kissing the tip of each toe, gently enough so as not to tickle. He shifts to the side a bit so he can press kisses to the topside of Simon's foot as well. He works his way up toward the ankle where he nudges Simon's pant leg up with his nose to continue kissing a short distance up Simon's leg.

Tom's quiet reverence is sort of beautiful, if slightly overwhelming. What Simon finds so lovely isn't so much that Tom is lavishing him with attention as the fact that Tom is enjoying himself so much. Simon is reminded of Gomez Addams kissing his way up Morticia's arm. Not that the attention isn't nice too. It makes Simon want to let Tom have the thing he wants so badly. It makes him want to give himself to Tom.

Simon strokes Tom's hair and whispers his name. Tom looks up with dark eyes and Simon leans forward to kiss him. The kiss is delicate, but it's enough to send waves of arousal throughout Simon's body when Tom opens up and lets Simon's tongue dip into his mouth.

Tom stands first, but remains bent forward to keep kissing. He helps Simon up and catches him in his arms. They walk awkwardly – Tom moving forward, Simon moving back – out into the bedroom. By the time they get to the bed, the kiss is deep and wet.

They don't manage to undress before falling onto the neatly-made bed together. Tom goes down on top of Simon and they rub against each other through their pajamas as they kiss.

"I told myself I wasn't… gonna let you… ravish me tonight," Simon pants as Tom kisses his neck. "Still sore from last night."

"You can fuck me instead," Tom whispers.

Simon groans as Tom grinds against him hard. "You keep rubbing on me like that, I won't be fucking anything for at least twenty minutes."

"God, I am far too enamored with the idea of making you come in your pants. Remember when we made out in my trailer on set?"

"Which time?"

"The first time. I wanted to make you fill your jeans with come so bad, you have no idea."

"Good thing you held back. Renner almost caught us."

"Jeremy _did_ catch us."

"Not technically. I mean, he doesn't know anything, right?"

Tom pauses and looks down at him. "He knows, Simon. We had a talk after you left that day. He'd figured it out."

Simon's eyes widen. "When were you gonna tell me?"

"…Right now?"

"Get off me." Simon nudges Tom off and Tom slides down onto his side. Simon sits up and frowns down at him.

"I thought you knew," Tom says, propping his head up on his hand.

"Well, I didn't!"

"How could you not know? Can you imagine what you and I must've looked like in that moment?"

"And you, what, just confirmed everything for him?"

"I didn't have a choice. He's not stupid, Simon."

"Fuck me," Simon groans, covering his eyes with a hand.

"He never said _anything_ to you?"

Simon drops his hand from his face. "No! I mean, he started winking at me a lot, but I just thought his contacts were bothering him. Although… all those thumbs-ups were rather odd, now that I think about it."

Tom smiles. "That was his way of congratulating us. He's happy for us."

"Anybody else that I should know about?"

"Not that I know of. He wouldn't tell anyone, he's not like that."

Simon exhales heavily. "Okay, well… Jeremy knows. All right, then." He lies down again on his back and looks at Tom, who shimmies close and lays a hand on Simon's tummy.

"Now, where were we?" Tom asks.

"You were trying to make me come in my pants."

"Right. How close did I get?"

"Pretty damn close."

"And now?"

Simon uses his hand to demonstrate a swan dive while making a noise with his mouth like a slide whistle going from a high to a low note and then exploding.

Tom laughs and kisses his cheek. "Well, let's work on that, shall we?"

They're about to move back into each other's arms when Simon's phone chirps on the nightstand.

"You've gotta be kidding," Tom mutters.

"Shit," Simon says, reaching for the phone like it's a life line.

"You're seriously answering that now?"

"It's Nick. I've got to say goodnight-slash-good-morning to him."

A split second after Simon thumbs in a message and presses 'send', he is divested of his phone.

"Hey!" he exclaims, sitting up as Tom sits up too and yanks the phone out of reach of Simon's grabby hands.

"This is going away now," Tom says. He shoves it into the drawer in the nightstand on his side of the bed, then turns back to Simon. "I'm serious. No more phone for tonight. No more Twitter, no more texting, no more e-mail, no more whatever else you do on that thing. Do you ever actually use it for, you know, making calls?"

"Wait, wait, wait, I need it, I was gonna check Tumblr after we were finished messing around. I'll just do it now instead."

"Tumblr? What for?"

"I've been monitoring the progress of a photo I tweeted earlier, watching it make the rounds."

"What photo?"

Simon puts on his innocent face and says, "The one I took of Chris at lunch before you got there."

Tom's eyebrows go up. "Chris."

Simon can't even open his mouth to reply. He is forced to keep his lips pressed together to stifle his laughter.

"Why, I oughta…" Tom begins to say as he tackles Simon and pins him. "Soreness be damned, I'm ravishing the Chris out of you one way or another."

Despite his threats, Tom goes a little easier tonight. He's content to just use his mouth and tongue and hands, spending extra time sucking nipples and earlobes. He works his lips around Simon's shaft, hollow-cheeked and gorgeous, sucking until Simon is rewarded with the sensation of Tom swallowing around his girth while he comes down Tom's throat.

Lying there catching his breath, Simon opens his eyes to see Tom getting up off the bed. Tom wipes his mouth dry with a hand, then brings that hand down to tug at the tent in his cotton pajama pants. He eyes Simon, who is partially exposed; pajamas pushed down to his thighs, t-shirt pushed up a bit to show his flat belly. Simon lies there and lets him look.

Tom stares a moment longer while he feels himself, then gets back on track. He leans over to pull the blankets up on his side. "Get under the covers," he says. Simon sits up, pulls his shirt off, and gets under the covers, leaving his pants where they are around his thighs. He feels oddly sexy being only half-undressed. Tom joins him, pulls him close beneath the sheets.

Simon sees flashes of a scene from a movie that only exists in his head. His mental camera hovers beneath the covers and delivers quick shots of lips coming together, arms and legs entwining, nails clawing across a well-muscled back, a mouth caressing a neck. A chest swells with an inhalation, like that first breath after birth, as though this character, this desperately in-love person, is just now learning how to live. Every sound is amplified; hearts thump and whispers almost rasp. All of this goes through Simon's mind in the space of a few seconds, during those first intoxicating moments when hot skin meets hot skin beneath the covers.

They stay this way, holding each other and kissing deeply and basking in each other's warmth, for a long time. There's no urgency here. It is comfortable and slow and tender. Even when Tom pushes his pants down to sit below his ass, exposing his cock and pressing it against Simon's, it's not entirely sexual. It's just a need for contact, a need to be close. He's gone soft now, as though his body is just waiting for Simon to get hard again. They press together from groin to chest, rocking against each other, their soft dicks massaging against one another. They kiss so deeply they might as well call this fucking, as deep inside each other as they are.

They stay this way long enough for both their hard-ons to returns. Their breathing quickens, the kiss becomes more urgent. When the kiss breaks, they are panting. Their eyes meet in the semi-dark and Simon just nods.

Tom rolls away to grab the lube from the drawer he put Simon's phone in. He settles on his back again and strokes a bit of lube onto his cock while he watches Simon sit up and touch himself. Tom's eyes are focused squarely between Simon's legs. Simon makes a point to play with himself, nice and slow, putting himself on display as he gets up on his knees and comes up between Tom's spread legs. He positions himself close, his thighs pressed to the undersides of Tom's, so that Tom can reach out and spread lube along Simon's shaft too. Simon sits there on his knees and lets Tom stroke him for a while. Both their waistbands are stretched taut around their spread thighs.

Simon leans forth onto his hands and presses against Tom at the groin. He hovers there and rocks his hips back and forth. He manages to press a little moan out of Tom who takes hold of Simon's hips, not to guide them, but just to hold on, just to touch him. His hands move up onto Simon's ass to grab on the same way he does when Simon fucks him missionary style.

It takes a little longer for Simon to come this time, and by the time he's finally close he's riding Tom hard. His skin is moist, he's panting. He looks down into Tom's eyes. Tom is watching him with his sleepy, yet intense gaze, as though trying to mentally will the orgasm out of Simon.

"Come on, honey, you're close, aren't you? I can feel it," Tom pants. He's right; Simon is so close now, he's quivering intermittently, he's moaning, almost whining, on each exhale. But it's Tom who comes first. Unable to hold back any longer, his breaths become quick and ragged and then he's spurting onto his belly. Simon looks down between them to watch that as he rubs every last drop out of Tom. Tom's climax shoots through him hard and fast and when he's coming down, Simon stops, knowing Tom will be extra sensitive now. He sits up and takes himself in his hand, but Tom's hand is soon nudging his away and taking over with quick, firm strokes that bring Simon off in seconds.

Simon comes just as hard as the first time. He groans, he lowers his head and hunches as though buckling under pressure. He paints Tom's fingers and stomach with come and then it all comes crashing down. He falls down into Tom's arms, feeling like he'll never catch his breath again.

Tom kisses Simon's cheek as he rolls him onto his back. Simon slowly opens his eyes and finds Tom's lovely face close to his and gazing down at him. He's cuddled up close, an arm draped over Simon's body, lying partially in the bit of come that was transferred from his belly to Simon's.

"I've never felt like this before," Tom whispers. "I've never made love like that before." He leans down and presses his mouth and nose to Simon's face to nuzzle him. "It's never been like this, not with anyone else, ever."

"Yeah," Simon agrees, the word coming out as a soft breath. He's still too dazed and out of breath to say much more.

"I want you with me, Simon."

Simon puts his arms around Tom and just holds on, desperate to keep him close. Minutes pass, and when they've finally gotten their bearings they kick off their pajamas and wipe each other off with tissues. They settle beneath the covers again and hold each other.

"That'll teach you to say another man's name in my bed," Tom says. "I better not hear the name Chris in here again."

"Chris who?" Simon asks.

Tom chuckles and kisses his head. "I love you."

"Love you too… Are you hungry, by any chance? Bit peckish myself."

"What can I get for you?"

"I can go down."

"No, I want to. Tell me what you need."

Simon thinks for a moment. "Anymore of that quinoa left?"

"I thought you were watching your carb intake."

"I am. I'd like to watch some carbs go into my mouth right now."

"Okay," Tom laughs. He gently pulls away to get up. "Anything else while I'm down there?"

"Water, please."

Simon sits up and watches Tom pull his pants back on. Tom then leans over and kisses Simon once more before leaving the room.

Minnie, who has since been relieved of her pink bow, slips inside just as Tom leaves. It's as if she'd known what they were up to and had stayed away out of respect. Now she hops up onto the bed like she owns the place and curls up against Simon's bare hip. Simon scratches her head and listens to her breathe.

"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" Simon murmurs to her. "Made yourself at home, got yourself some new mates, had a spa day. You could do this, couldn't you? You could stay and be just fine. Maybe I could too. Not like we'd be here all the time, Tom and me. We'd have to be gone for weeks or months at a time for work. You'd be here with the staff, or with Tom when he's here. And the Munchkin would be here a lot. You'll like her. She's small and sassy, like you. Just a warning, though: she calls me 'uncle' now and sometimes I cuddle with her and read to her. Don't get territorial. I love you both, just in different ways."

Simon realizes that he really does love Tom's daughter. The thought of her in his life scares him less tonight than it did last night. He lets himself think about it a little more, in ways he'd never allowed before. What if she started calling him something else, some variation of 'dad'? That might be okay. Simon isn't her uncle, but if he's going to be with Tom, really be with him, then he would become something of a second father to the little girl. Simon likes children. Maybe this could work.

A chirp sounds from the drawer on Tom's side of the bed. Simon pauses, listens. He doesn't hear Tom approaching, figures he's probably reheating the quinoa, arranging it nicely on a plate with a sprig of parsley or something. That's just the sort of thing Tom would do, go overboard rather than just bringing the entire casserole dish upstairs straight from the fridge with a couple of spoons. He'll probably be down there a while, so Simon scoots over, leans and stretches until he can reach the drawer. He opens it, sticks his hand inside and roots around blindly for his phone. He feels a lot of things, mostly folded sheets of paper, envelopes, a stray pen here and there, one of Tom's glasses cases. And then his hand grazes something small and velvety.

He stops. He doesn't know why he's stopping. He's never been a snoop and has no reason to start now, but something makes him freeze, a little prickle up the back of his neck, like something is telling him that the velvety thing has everything to do with him. He's always had pretty good instincts. But clearly it's something Tom doesn't want him to know about. People have secrets, not everything is everybody's business, and Simon is probably going to be ruining a surprise of some kind if he picks up what he's touching.

Of course, if what he's touching is what it feels like, then Simon wants to know.

He closes his hand around the velvety thing and he freezes again. Yes, it's a ring box, just as he'd suspected. His heart thumps in the stillness.

He brings the box out to have a look. It's black, or looks black in the semi-darkness. No markings on the outside. He opens it. Satin on the lid's underside with "Tiffany & Co." written there in silver letters. The ring stares up at him from its velvet bed. It's a simple design; a plain five-millimeter band with a small, round diamond set directly into it. It's probably a smaller stone than Tom would have liked, but if this is a ring for Simon, Tom would have known better than to go for anything larger. The metal is white, like white gold, but knowing Tom it's probably platinum. It has a brushed matte finish.

Simon sits there, frozen, suddenly feeling too cold up and down his arms and too hot in the face and neck.

 _You don't even know it's for you,_ he tells himself. _Bit full of yourself, aren't you? Could be for anybody. Could be a gift for someone else, you don't know._

 _Try it on,_ whispers another little voice in his head.

He shouldn't, but he has to know. He plucks the ring out of the box, sets the box on his thigh and easily slips his ring finger into the ring. It bumps a bit over his knuckle but then comes to rest securely, but not too snugly, at his finger's base. A perfect fit.

He sits there staring at it, pictures Tom's hopeful face looking up at him from a kneeling position, his mouth moving, asking Simon the question.

"Oh my fucking god," Simon says.

"I probably shouldn't have put your phone in there," says Tom's quiet voice from the door.

Simon jumps, looks up to see Tom standing there with a dish in one hand, a bottled water in the other. Simon just stares guiltily at him.

Tom comes into the room. His face is expressionless. He sits on the bed, placing Minnie between him and Simon. He sets the dish and water down on Simon's nightstand. "I should've known you wouldn't be able to ignore it if it rang."

"I don't… I'm not like this," is all Simon can say.

"I know." Tom looks at him. "Do you like it, at least?"

Simon looks down at the ring still on his finger. "It's beautiful. I just don't know what it's for. It's not my birthday, it's not Christmas…" He trails off. He wants to ask a very specific question about what the ring is for, but he can't bring himself to. If he's wrong, he'll feel like even more of an ass than he already does. He looks at Tom in silence, letting his unasked question read on his face.

Tom stares back, looking slightly guilty himself. "I hadn't decided when to present it to you," he says. "It was dependent on how this week went."

Simon runs those words through his mind a few times, trying to read between them, trying to hear the unspoken answer to his unspoken question. With a slight frown of uncertainty, he cautiously repeats Tom's words: "You were going to present it to me."

Tom lowers his gaze to the bed, glides a hand across the sheets to smooth them down, because apparently he can't look Simon in the eye as he replies, "Yeah."

His single-word reply says it all. He must know what Simon is thinking, so if he was going to deny anything, he would have by now. But he hasn't. Because he can't.

Simon's mouth falls open. "You were going to decide whether or not to propose to me by week's end?" he asks in disbelief. "Are you mad?"

"Maybe." Tom looks at him again. "I told you, I want you with me, Simon. I want you in my life. Is this really so surprising?"

"Well… I… I dunno. Knowing you, I guess not, but this is my life too, and this isn't the sort of thing I expect to happen to me."

"I know. I didn't want to scare you, so –"

"So, you thought proposing might be a good idea? Fuck," Simon curses as he realizes he's still wearing the ring. He pulls it off, sticks it back in its box and snaps the box shut so hard, Minnie jumps.

"No," Tom replies. "That's why I hadn't brought it up yet. I knew you weren't ready to talk about it. But I think about it, Simon. I think about it a lot. I wanted to see how you did this week here with me, becoming more integrated into my life, getting to know my staff a little more. I wanted to see how you handled it. Then, if all went well, I was going to broach the subject."

"So, this has all been a test?"

"No. This is me trying to share my life with you. It isn't easy. You're kind of skittish and the hectic nature of my life seems to exacerbate that."

Simon looks away, down at the ring box. He opens it a bit to look at the ring again, mentally trying it on for size. His heart thumps again and he feels short of breath. He shuts the box and sets it down on the bed.

"It's only been a few months," he says quietly.

Tom gets up off the bed and comes around to where Simon is. He sits next to Simon, takes his hand. "Forget about the ring. Okay? You weren't even supposed to know about it yet. Let's just put it away and pretend you never saw it."

Simon looks at him incredulously. "I saw it, Tom. I'm _still_ seeing it. I've still got after images on my retinas from where light was bouncing off it." There is, of course, not enough light to bounce off it at the moment, but Simon knows Tom gets the picture.

"Let's just go to bed. We can talk about it in the morning. You're a little freaked out right now, it's not the best time to have a discussion. Please?" He gives Simon the puppy eyes, kisses his cheek, cups his face, whispers, "I didn't mean to scare you. That's the last thing I wanted. I love you so much, I wanted to give you something beautiful, as beautiful as you, something meaningful that represents how I feel about you."

"Ever heard of Hallmark cards?"

Tom releases Simon's face and cants his head in exasperation. "Simon, come on."

"I'm sorry, I'm just… processing. Christ, Tom, an engagement ring? Really?"

Tom lowers his gaze as though conceding Simon's point. It is still early in their relationship and Tom knows it. "When it's right, it's right," he says simply, a statement that only underscores how unsure Simon still is in comparison. Simon had felt sure mere minutes ago, but now…

He picks up the ring box and hands it to Tom. "You're right, let's put it away and get some sleep. Things might be clearer for me in the morning."

Tom puts the box away, pauses before closing the drawer and looks at Simon. "Did you wanna check your phone?"

"What?"

"That's why you went in there in the first place, isn't it?"

The question sounds slightly accusatory and Simon isn't sure why. Tom knows that's why he went in there, knows he wouldn't have gone in there for anything that wasn't his.

"I'm sorry," Simon says quietly. "I'm really sorry."

Tom shakes his head, smiles faintly. "I wasn't asking for an apology. Don't feel bad about the ring. Please don't. That ring wasn't meant to make you feel guilty. It was meant to make you happy."

A statement which, of course, makes Simon feel worse.

"And scare the shit out of you," Tom adds. He gives Simon a hopeful grin and watches Simon's face, waiting for a smile in return. Simon gives him a genuine one.

"You do enjoy that, don't you? Leaving me all tongue-tied and off kilter."

"Sorry," Tom says as he closes the drawer. "Quinoa's getting cold."

Simon had completely forgotten about that. He glances back at the dish sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed. "I'm not hungry anymore," he says. "I made you get it for nothing."

Tom's arms wrap around him. Simon turns back toward him, into the hug, and hugs him back. "It's okay. It's my pleasure to do things for you." Tom kisses his cheek, then gets up again. "I'll put it back. Be back up in a bit. Approximately five minutes, in case you wanted to have a look through my underwear drawer."

"You're hilarious. Hey, while you're down there, try not to accidentally book our honeymoon or adopt us a child or something."

"Ha, ha."

Tom picks up the dish, leaves the bottled water. His adoring gaze lingers on Simon for a moment as he pauses in the doorway, and then he's gone. That final look feels awfully heavy to Simon now, knowing what he knows.

* * *

The next morning, Simon emerges from the bedroom, pajamas on beneath Tom's hooded bathrobe. If he runs into any staff today, he wants more than one layer of clothing between himself and them. He peers warily around every corner, expecting Thorne to pop out at him as he makes his way downstairs to find Tom. Tom wasn't in bed when Simon woke up. He wouldn't have left without saying goodbye, so he's somewhere in the house. No one approaches Simon and the house seems quiet.

The sound of jingly dog tags comes toward him and Minnie appears. She comes to the bottom of the stairs as Simon descends and she happily barks at him as if saying good morning. When he reaches the bottom, she trots away toward the kitchen, leading him to Tom. Simon follows her and the inviting smell of cinnamon.

He almost expects to find Jessie in there in her chef whites, but it's only Tom, still in pajamas as well, standing at the stove, prodding at something in a skillet with a spatula. He glances over at Simon, smiles gorgeously and looks cute as hell with his rumpled morning hair, standing there in his gingham-print cotton pants, his t-shirt and bare feet.

"Hiya, Gorgeous," he says.

Simon feels anything but gorgeous at the moment. He gives Tom a squinty-eyed smile and a wave. "Morning," he says groggily. "There's something cinnamony happening in here."

"Apple sandwiches."

Simon steps closer to see. There are two sandwiches in the skillet on cinnamon raisin bread with some kind of white cheese oozing from the sides.

"That's definitely not on my diet," Simon says.

"What, Thorne's allowed to give you cookies, but I can't make you breakfast?"

"Found those, did you?"

"I did. Shortbread's never found its way into this house before, so I figured they must be for you. And I knew you'd probably never buy them or ask for them, so it must have been Thorne. He thinks I don't go in that cupboard."

"Yeah, he told me. Must be where he hides his mistakes; I keep finding broken bits of mugs and vases in there."

"Must be. Anyway, I thought you could use a treat. The bread's whole grain, don't worry."

"You thought I could use a treat? What, after Ring-pocalypse, you mean."

Tom hesitates. "Yeah. Yeah, that."

Simon leans back against an adjacent counter. "If there's no reason for me to feel guilty, there's no reason for you to, either."

"But I'm rushing you, there's no denying that. I've been making a concerted effort not to, but... I'm sorry."

Tom glances sheepishly at Simon when Simon doesn't say anything. Simon's been watching Tom thoughtfully, thinking about how difficult all this might be for him. He moves close again, this time spooning up against Tom's back and wrapping his arms around Tom's middle. He lowers his face to mash it against Tom's shoulder and says, "You don't ever have to apologize for how much you love me or how badly you want to be with me. That's rubbish. You're not the problem, Tom, it's… it's everyone else. The rest of the world."

"But that's just it. I can control myself if I try. What am I supposed to do about the rest of the world?"

"Hey." Simon lets him go and steps to his side to get his attention. Tom looks at him. "I'm not going anywhere. So I don't want to move in and get married tomorrow, so what? A relationship is more than cohabitation."

Tom gives him a faint smile that for some reason doesn't reassure Simon. It's like Tom doesn't believe him. But why shouldn't he, though? Simon keeps his frustration to himself, gives Tom a quick good morning kiss and then steps away.

"What're we drinking?" Simon asks, going for the fridge.

"Anything you'd like."

Simon makes them tea and they take their breakfast upstairs where they eat in bed. The mood seems okay, if slightly melancholy. Tom is attentive and cuddly, but quiet. When most of their breakfast is gone, he leans away to grab something from the troublesome drawer.

"Uh-oh, here it comes," Simon says jokingly. "Shall I ring my mum, tell her the good news?"

"No, not proposing yet. Here. I want to show you this before you see it somewhere else."

Tom hands Simon an iPad with something on the screen. It's a picture with a headline in bold, black letters across the top. Simon instantly recognizes Tom in the shot, but takes a second to recognize himself; he doesn't often see himself from the back. Once he realizes what he's looking at, his stomach drops.

The second thing that gets his attention is a small, circular picture which appears to be a cropped and magnified section of another picture. It shows a hand gripping someone's thigh. This picture is inset in the upper corner of the larger picture that Simon had looked at first, the one which depicts Tom, Simon and Chris sitting on the restaurant patio together. The headline reads, _"CRUISE CAUGHT COPPING A FEEL"._ The sub-headline: _"You'll never guess with whom. Is He Finally Coming Out?"_.

Simon supposes that most people would assume Chris was the man in question, but a quick comparison of the larger picture against the magnified section proves that Tom's hand is on Simon's denim-clad thigh, not Chris's corduroys.

A short scroll down the page shows the full image from which the magnified section was taken. Tom and Simon are sitting alone together; Chris obviously in the restroom at this point. Tom is leaned in close, showing concern, and his hand looks even further up on Simon's thigh than Simon remembers.

"This why you wanted me to have a treat this morning?" Simon asks.

"I know how cranky you get when you haven't eaten."

"Have you read it?" Simon begins skimming the accompanying article before Tom replies.

"Yeah, I read it. I normally wouldn't bother, but I thought I should this time, in case there were any surprises I should warn you about?"

"And?"

"Nothing unexpected. Don't let this faze you. This kind of thing happens to me all the time. There's little that can be done about it and it doesn't mean anything anyway. No one knows anything for sure."

"Wait, hang on, what's this? Source? What source?" Simon looks at Tom. "They say they have a source, a 'close friend' of yours. Who are they talking about?"

"I don't know."

"I realize these people are the lowest of the low, but they wouldn't say they had a source unless they had a source."

"I know that, but nobody in my camp would do this."

Simon looks back down at the article, reads aloud: "'Our source, who prefers to remain anonymous, claims that Pegg, 41, is currently staying with Cruise, 49, at Cruise's palatial Beverly Hills home. Pegg is looking for a place to rent in L.A. in preparation for the upcoming six-month Star Trek 2 shoot and while he doesn't intend to stay with Cruise during the six months, Cruise has been trying to convince him to do just that.' Fucking son of a mother fucking sodding cunt."

"I don't remember every single word from that article, but I'll assume that last sentence was just you."

"Someone who's been in this house has told them these things, you can't deny that."

"Are you accusing my staff? Because most of these people have been with me for years. There's no way, Simon."

"Tom, _no one else knows this stuff but you and me_. Have you been talking to someone? Maybe a phone conversation was overheard."

"No, there was no phone conversation."

"But you've been talking to someone. Who?"

"I've only discussed the issue with one person. I tell him a lot of things, he helps me figure things out."

"David," Simon guesses.

Tom looks at him. "He wouldn't."

"He clearly did!"

"What is with you and him? You two've barely said two words to each other and you've already pegged him as a threat. Why?"

"I can't explain it, he just gives me the heebs. He looks at me like he thinks I don't belong here."

"He doesn't think that. If he thought you were bad for me, he'd have said something by now. He's never kept his opinions about my love life to himself before."

"Exactly how much about your love life do you tell him?"

"I discuss relationship issues with him sometimes. Sometimes he does the same. We're friends, that's what friends do."

"You don't think he'd try to convince you to stop seeing someone without being blunt about it?"

"What, you think he's leaked my relationship to the press to force me to end it with you?"

It sounds stupid to Simon too. He doesn't respond.

"I suppose now you're gonna tell me he's the one who submitted these pictures to the tabloids, right?" Tom says.

"Why's that so farfetched? He had a phone. Camera phones are advanced these days, he could've taken these shots from across the street."

"No, he couldn't have. Look at the zoom on this one. There were a million photogs out there, these pictures came from one of them. And that guy you saw wasn't David."

"How can you be sure?"

"How can _you_? You saw him once before that, according to you, and suddenly you think you can pick him out of a lineup?"

"I know what I saw?"

"Yeah? What was he doing? When you saw him across the street, what was he wearing? Same thing you saw him in that morning? How was he holding his phone?"

Simon frowns, annoyed. "He was wearing a suit."

"What color shirt? What color tie? Shoes?"

Simon stammers for a moment, then snaps, "I dunno, I don't remember. And what do you mean how was he holding his phone? He was holding it like a fucking phone, wasn't he?"

"In which hand?"

"What?"

"Which hand? Was he talking on it the whole time? Did he stop to touch the screen at any point?"

Simon sighs, thinks back. "He did stop at one point to tap the screen –"

"How? Show me."

Tom hands Simon's phone to him. Simon just stares at him. "I feel like I'm on trial," he says. "I'm not the one you should be suspicious of."

"I'm not suspicious of you. I'm trying to prove a point. Here, take it. Show me."

Simon rolls his eyes, but takes the phone. He holds it in his left hand and begins pressing the blank screen with his thumb. "Like that. Exactly like that."

"With that hand?"

" _Yes_ , what is your point?"

"Which hand was he using that morning in the kitchen?"

"Wow. Really, Sherlock?"

"I'm serious. Do you remember?"

Another eye roll, but Simon answers, "His right, I think."

"You think?"

"I'm _sure_ , all right?"

"Do you even remember seeing his left hand in the kitchen?"

"What sort of question is that?"

"You don't, do you?"

_"Why?"_

"Because if you had, you'd remember." At that, Tom gets up, goes to his book shelf. He comes back with a photograph in a black frame, sits on the bed again and hands the picture to Simon. Tom is in the picture along with the tall, long-faced David. Both look younger. There is also a woman on David's arm. She is short and slight of frame with long, wavy hair that is secured away from her face by a barrette on the side of her head. Everyone is smiling. And David's left hand is very clearly a prosthetic.

"If you're absolutely, one hundred percent certain that the man you saw was using his left hand to both hold and operate his phone," Tom says quietly, "then there's no way it was David. He used to do factory work. He lost his left hand in an accident years ago. Got one hell of a settlement for it."

Simon puts the picture down, sits back against the headboard and pulls his knees to his chest to hug them. "He still hates me," he mutters stubbornly. "And you've still got a leak somewhere. _And_ him not being at the restaurant yesterday doesn't prove that he's not the one betraying you."

Tom picks up the picture and shimmies over to sit close to Simon. "See how young I am in this shot?" he says, pointing at his own smiling face.

"No, you look exactly the same," Simon says. It's not entirely true, but present-day Tom certainly doesn't look his age. "I keep wondering how you do that. I expect to stumble across a large portrait of you looking extremely old and haggard any day now."

"That's funny," Tom says mirthlessly. "But I do look younger here. I'm just under thirty in this picture, and David looks much younger too. This is how long I've known him, Simon. He's been in my life more than twenty years. I don't keep people around that long and not notice if they're shady. David is my confidant. He shares my ideals and my beliefs. He knows me. I'd trust him with my life."

Simon wants to argue, but he's run out of steam. He stares into Tom's eyes, quietly conceding Tom's point. Tom doesn't look smug. He merely nods, acknowledging the end of the David argument, and he sets the picture aside.

"Yes, we still have a leak," Tom says. "That much is true. And we'll find it. Believe me, I will find it."

Simon's phone chirps. He picks it up again automatically and hears a soft sigh from Tom.

"What?" Simon asks. "It might be important. Might be my sister."

"You have an addiction, you know that, right?" Tom is serious.

Simon smirks at him. "I beg your pardon?"

Tom merely eyes him sidelong, his expression stony.

Simon sobers. "Fuck you."

"Fuck me why?"

"It wasn't me."

It takes a second, but Tom catches up. "I wasn't suggesting it was you who leaked the info by accident."

"Oh, you weren't?" Simon asks, his voice dripping with skepticism.

"No, I wasn't. I know it wasn't you. I know it because it isn't possible. You haven't told anyone anything about us."

At that, Tom looks away, but the chill from his gaze lingers on Simon.

"You're angry," Simon says.

"I'm not angry."

"Yes, you are. You're angry because… because I haven't told anyone? Are you fucking serious?"

"Yes, I'm fucking serious," Tom replies, his voice rising a bit. "And don't tell me it's to protect our privacy. The people you love, who love you, the people that matter, they respect your privacy. You could tell them if you wanted, but you haven't."

"Oh, fuck you twice!" Simon snaps. "You haven't told anyone who matters. You've told your staff! You've gone and told half the fucking planet about us simply for convenience, like it's nothing, like it's meaningless."

"Like I'm proud," Tom corrects him. He's glaring. There's a fire in his eyes, a determination, even though his voice is quiet again. "I don't want to have to hide in my own home. I want to be open about who I love. If I can't do that out there, then I'm damn sure gonna do it in my own house. So, yeah, I told my staff. And you've told no one. Like you're ashamed, like you think you'll be judged. And no, I don't think that's about you liking men, I think it's about you being with me."

Simon is glaring now, but it's not determination, it's not the same fire and drive that he's seen, that he's seeing now, burning in Tom's eyes. This is pure anger. "I told Nick," he says to Tom, spits it at him like venom. "All right? I told him ages ago, and I didn't tell you because I didn't ask you first and I thought you'd be upset. No, I haven't told a whole bunch of meaningless people, because this matters to me, you and I matter to me. I didn't tell my fucking agent or my publicist or the bloke who cuts my fucking hair, I told one of the people who matters most. You've told half the fucking planet, well good for you. I've told my whole world. What does that tell you?"

Tom deflates and Simon imagines tiny fires in Tom's pupils shrinking away. There's a sickening moment of realization that crosses Tom's face. His shoulders slump as his expression switches from hard to sad, as he looks into the eyes of the man he apparently didn't know as well as he'd thought.

They look away from each other at the same time. Simon still feels keyed up with anger, still feels that venom making his heart pump too hard, but it isn't Tom he's angry with now.

"You really felt you couldn't tell me that?" Tom asks.

Simon hesitates. "You asked if I'd told anyone and I just automatically said no. I don't know why. And at that point I'd lied to you and didn't think I could take it back without looking like a twat, so… I just went with it. But it's like I said, Nick's important to me. I tell him everything. I tell him what I've eaten, what I'm reading, what I dream about at night. I haven't quite gotten used to being that way with you yet, but that doesn't mean anything. It just takes me a while to warm up to people. I mean, you're not just people, you're _you_ , I know, but I'm a creature of habit, that's all. Nick, he's been part of my life, of who I am, for nearly twenty years."

"You tell him about your dreams?"

"Yeah. Sometimes, if I remember something weird. Like, yesterday morning I woke up from a nightmare and I told him about it 'cause I needed to talk. He's like my David, but non-creepy. I mean, you tell David things that you don't tell me, right?"

"You had a nightmare?"

"Well – er…" Simon doesn't think he should mention what the nightmare was about, considering it involved Tom basically absorbing Simon's best four-legged friend. He doesn't think that will go over very well at the moment, and he's definitely not about to mention the zombie dream. "It was nothing, really. Seemed like a big deal at the time, but I overreacted."

"You don't want to tell me about it."

Simon sighs, realizing the depth of the hole he's dug for himself. "It's not because I don't trust you."

"Why, then?"

"Because given the nature of the dream, I don't think it's going to help me much here."

Tom looks away again and doesn't look like he's going to speak again any time soon. He's brooding and sullen and distant, which only annoys Simon.

"I can't talk to you when you do that," Simon says, barely keeping himself from snapping at Tom.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I dunno. Yell at me. Tell me everything I've done wrong, am doing wrong, _will_ do wrong, tell me how it makes you feel, tell me if there's something I can do to change things, something, _anything_! Don't just shut down. What am I supposed to do when you get like that?"

"I think you already know what you do wrong."

"Yeah, I'm a prick. I push you away, I hide myself from you, I keep you at arm's length, I know. But not always. Not last night, not before Ring-pocalypse. I was right there with you last night, I was one with you, I know you must've felt it."

"There's more to a relationship than sex."

"Yeah, I know, but…" Simon trails off, unsure what to say.

"Why don't you tell me what I do wrong?" Tom suggests. "Clearly I'm doing something you can't stand. Let's start there."

"It's not that you do things I can't stand, it's just… you're so gung ho, you just throw yourself into things head first without thinking. This relationship is no different. You just came at me like a charging bull. You didn't think it through. You didn't consider the consequences. You didn't wonder what would happen when we got where you wanted to go. And you're still doing it. You bought that ring without a second thought to how it might look to me. You didn't discuss it with me at all, you just did it. You went ahead and instructed your staff to choose a new routine for me yesterday without consulting me first, you… you bought me white tulips."

Tom looks at him again. "What?"

"They're lovely, really they are, but they're not me. It feels like everything you've done since I got here has been designed to convince me to stay; the flowers and the little show in the kitchen with the videos and the making supper together – the menu for which I'm fully aware was designed by Jessie, not you. It's all just a bit too big, too unreal. It's like the more I get to know you, the more I realize I _don't_ know you, and the more I wonder if _you_ even know you. Everything's a little too cliché with you, a little too perfect. It irks me. There are all these people all over our relationship, helping you out with the details, like you can't work out what to do with me on your own."

"I would've told you it was Jessie's menu."

"But you didn't. You made me think it was all you. And when I found out it was her, it made me wonder what else wasn't your idea. The flowers? The trip on the jet we never took? The snowboard?"

"Hey," Tom says, giving Simon a sharp look. "That _was_ me. It wasn't rocket science, Simon; you like snowboarding, you wanted a particular board. I can put two and two together, I'm not helpless."

"I know, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to imply that you are. But you understand, don't you? How it all might look to me? I don't know where you begin and the rest of this ends." Simon gestures around at the room as he says this. "What parts of all this are really you, and what parts were designed to look like who you want everyone to think you are?"

"You really think I've lied to you about who I am?"

"Not on purpose. I think over time you've become this persona, and I don't know how much of you I've really seen. Is anything in your life spontaneous? Is every part of it planned out by somebody else? You do all these amazing things, you fly planes, you produce movies, you get nominated for Oscars, but you can't seem to navigate a relationship without supervision. Why is that?"

"Simon, stop –"

"No, listen. You asked, and I'm telling you. Your exes; I'm nothing like any of them, am I? I'm not just talking about the ex-wives, but even the secret ex-boyfriends you've told me about, they've all been these ruggedly handsome, athletic types with broad shoulders and too much chin. How d'you go from that to me? It's like you're jumping all over the board without a plan, just trying shit on for size, seeing what sticks. It's like you don't know –"

 _"Stop,"_ Tom snaps. His fire is back. "You're really questioning how I feel about you?"

"I'm just saying… you've tried to be what others wanted you to be, the perfect Prince Charming with the perfect princess. And then you tried to be the perfect Prince Charming with the perfect, well, other Prince Charming. None of that worked out, so now there's me. The polar opposite of everything that's come before. I'm weird, I'm nerdy, I'm a square peg in your round world. I'm fucking _atheist_. Your faith is important to you, how does someone like you end up with someone like me? How were we gonna work that out?"

"I'd never ask you to convert, if that's what you're suggesting. You _know_ I wouldn't. That's not what I'm about. Not now. Not with you."

"But –" Simon stops abruptly as a noise catches his ear. He snaps his head around to look at the bedroom door; the noise had come from down the hall. "What the fuck was that?"

"That must be the dog walker," Tom sighs. Simon looks at him, finds him hunched forward with an elbow on his knee, his hand rubbing his face.

"He's supposed to be here now?" Simon asks.

"Yeah," Tom replies. He sounds tired, like he knows the presence of any of his staff is the last thing this argument needs.

"Was he here the whole time?"

"No, he let himself in, can't have been here longer than ten minutes at this point."

"He might've heard us arguing."

"He probably did."

"And that doesn't worry you?"

"No. It doesn't."

They both go quiet and listen to Len's deep voice talking to Minnie; they pass by the closed bedroom door and Simon can hear Minnie panting, imagines her trotting happily along at Len's side as they head downstairs.

When he's sure Len is out of earshot, he knows what he has to say next: "I can't stay here."

"I knew you'd say that."

The unsurprised resignation in Tom's voice stings. Simon keeps his cool and says, "Someone's watching you. The longer I stay, the more info's gonna get out. Today it's why I'm in L.A. and why I'm staying with you, tomorrow it'll be that mole on my arse and what I sound like when I come. No, Tom. How am I supposed to relax around here?"

"Simon." Tom shifts closer, turns his body toward Simon. "Just think about this for a second. That story just came out. If your immediate reaction is to turn tail and run, how do you think that's gonna look? You don't want anyone to know; running translates to guilt, you know that."

"I can't stay. I feel like I've started a relationship with the whole of America. I feel like we're being watched even as we sit here. I'm not used to this sort of scrutiny. Our worlds are very different, and if we merge the two, one gets absorbed and disappears. Guess which one."

"You knew that when you got involved with me."

"Yeah. I did. That's why I was so reluctant."

"But you took up with me anyway."

"Because I was already falling in love with you."

Tom smiles, a faint, slightly sad smile, but it's also hopeful. He pulls Simon into his arms, leans against the headboard with him, and looks deeply into his eyes. "I will find the person responsible for leaking that information," he whispers.

"I know you will."

"But you still won't stay."

Simon feels a bit like he's stabbing a puppy in the heart as he replies, "I can't."

Tom shuts his eyes, rests his forehead against Simon's.

"I'm not breaking up with you," Simon says. "I just need space, that's all."

"That sounds like a break up to me."

"I'm not. I promise you I'm not."

"Not yet."

Simon swallows hard. He wants to say "not at all" or "not ever" or something equally romantic and reassuring, but he can't. "I love you. Please don't doubt that."

Tom nods as he pulls back a bit, opens his eyes. He's trying his best to keep his face blank, but his eyes are sad. They've got that lost little boy look in them that Simon's seen before in pictures. It's endearing and vulnerable and makes Simon want to take it all back and just hug him. "Let me make you a hotel reservation," Tom says. "Please. Let me do that for you."

Simon hesitates, but finally nods, knowing it will make Tom feel better to do something for him.

"And your sister. She gets in this evening. You're picking her up."

"Yeah."

"Take the car –"

"Tom –"

"It's yours if you ever need it. I'm serious, you've got the number, just give it a call and Gus'll go where you need him to. Let him pick up Kate. I can book her a room too –"

"Christ, you're mental," Simon sighs. "Fine, yes, do as you please, but I'm paying for my own room. And Kate's. Whatever you get charged, you fucking tell me and I'll pay you back."

"I'm not trying to emasculate you –"

"I know you're not. You're just being you, kind, generous, overprotective. I know, but I'm an adult, I can take care of myself."

Tom pulls away a bit more, nods at his lap. He seems to be holding his tongue; his jaw muscles are actually twitching. Finally, he looks at Simon again and asks, "Are you leaving right now?"

Simon looks down and picks absently at the bedsheets. "No. No, I don't have to go now."

Tom nods again. He pulls Simon back into his arms, leans back and they rest against the headboard together in silence, Simon's head nudged up underneath Tom's chin.

"Tom?" Simon suddenly says.

"Hm?"

"Remember when you suggested we lock the door and stay up here forever until the world forgets we exist?"

"Yeah."

"Too late for that, isn't it?"

Simon hears a little puff of air escape Tom's nose; the barest hint of laughter. "Yeah, Gorgeous. Too late."

End of Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Tom in this chapter. :( You'll see him again next time.

It's easy to find a pet-friendly hotel in L.A., not that Minnie is terribly relieved. Simon's sure it's not his imagination when she begins to seem a little haughty and distant. Once it becomes clear that they are not going back to Tom's big house, she insists on curling up in corners, beneath chairs, behind furniture, and patently ignoring Simon when he calls her.

It's their second full day at the hotel, two and half days since leaving Tom's. Simon's been going about his business, doing various interviews, talking about his upcoming projects and doing his best to be patient when he's asked over and over about _Star Trek 2_ , the one thing he can't talk about. He's gone out with the realtor again, but so far nothing's caught his eye.

Now, he stands a few feet away from the desk just off the living room in his hotel suite, staring at a sullen Minnie curled up beneath the desk chair.

"I'm sorry, all right?" he says, exasperated. "I couldn't stay, his place is a madhouse."

Minnie raises her head, turns her face away and puts her chin back down on her paws.

"Oh, come on. It's really that serious, is it? You'll see him again. We'll visit. You'll get to play in his backyard soon, I promise."

She ignores him.

"I didn't break up with him."

She keeps on ignoring him.

He sighs. "Come on, Min, gotta go. You've got a date with the dog sitter. Come on out."

She knows she's being shunted off to be babysat by strangers and is having none of it. In the end, Simon is forced to go and physically pick her up and carry her from the suite.

"Bloody drama queen," he mutters as he leaves his room. With Minnie tucked under his arm, he slips his wallet into his back pocket as he takes a step into the corridor, but as he does this he drops his sunglasses; he'd been holding both items in the same hand to free up the other hand for Minnie. He stops, half in and half out of his room, to bend over and pick the glasses up and he hits his head on the doorknob on his way back up. He curses under his breath as he straightens up and rubs at the back of his head.

He's sensing a trend here. He'd stubbed his toe that morning on the way to the bathroom. He'd spilled coffee on himself during breakfast. Yesterday he'd forgotten his phone in the hotel gym (and was lucky enough that a staff person found it before anyone else did). And that is how the last couple of days have been going for him; off-kilter, awkward, clumsy, ridiculous.

He drops Minnie off with hotel staff and heads out to meet his sister for lunch and shopping. On his way out, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He quickly pulls it out, a not-so-small part of him hoping it's the one person he hasn't heard from the last two days.

It _is_ someone he hasn't heard from in two days, but not the person he wants it to be. It's Thorne.

"You've gotta be joking," Simon says when he answers.

 _"Good afternoon, Mr. Pegg,"_ says Thorne. He sounds less chipper today, like someone's died and he's trying to be respectful. _"I'm sorry to trouble you."_

"I'm not staying there anymore. Whatever obligation you had to me has ended."

_"I know, sir, but you left something behind."_

"What is it?"

_"A bracelet. Brown, leather."_

"Right, right, I was looking for that. Yeah, I'll swing by and pick it up soon, or Tom can bring it to me."

_"Yes, sir, of course, sir. I'm sure he'd like to return it to you in person. I offered to bring it to you myself, but he said I shouldn't worry about it."_

"You shouldn't, it's really not that big a deal."

 _"I know, but I thought getting it out of the house might be helpful to him."_ Thorne lowers his voice as he explains, _"He's taken to carrying it around with him, in his pocket, taking it out to examine it when he thinks no one's looking."_

"He's moping."

_"Yes, sir. I realize the details of your relationship are none of my business, but –"_

"We haven't broken up."

_"You know I wouldn't ever dream of asking about it."_

"But you're worried about him. That's sweet, but you can relax. We're still together. I've just relocated."

Simon thinks he hears Thorne actually sigh with relief. _"That's good to hear, sir."_

"He's not a complete mess without me. He's a capable adult. Even if we had broken up, he'd be fine. Christ, it's like you're taking my moving out harder than he is. You and Minnie should start a club or something."

_"I might be just the tiniest bit invested in your relationship."_

"That's weird, Thorne. You know? That's really, very strange."

 _"I know."_ Simon can hear the wince in Thorne's voice. _"I'm sorry, sir."_

Simon sighs again. "No, it's fine, it's nice that you care. Just try to relax, all right? He and I, we're just working out some kinks right now. It'll be okay."

 _"Yes, of course, sir."_ Thorne clears his throat and gets his most professional tone back when he says, _"Did everything go smoothly with Miss Pegg's pick-up?"_

"Yeah, Gus got her just fine, thanks. I'm on my way to meet her now."

_"Excellent. Mr. Cruise has invited the both of you to dinner tomorrow night. From what I recall, your schedule permits this, is that correct?"_

"Jesus, Thorne, throw away my schedule, _I'm not staying there anymore_."

_"I did discard your schedule, sir, but I'd already committed it to memory before that."_

Simon shakes his head. "Yeah, we can drop by… hang on, why are _you_ inviting me to dinner? Why hasn't Tom called to tell me?"

_"He requested that I tell you. I think it might be difficult for him, hearing your voice right now."_

"I moved out, I haven't _died_."

_"I know, sir, but you know him. He's sensitive."_

Simon thinks that if Tom missed him so much, he'd want to hear Simon's voice. Then again, Thorne's not wrong; Tom can be a bit moody. "How did he say it?" Simon asks. "When he asked you to call me, how did he sound?"

_"I-I don't know. Normal, I guess."_

"He didn't sound upset or anything?"

_"If I may make a suggestion, perhaps you should call him and see for yourself."_

"No, no, I'm just… What time's this dinner, then?"

_"Eight p.m. at Urasawa."_

"Urasawa? That posh sushi place? Great, now I'll have to put on a jacket."

_"Do you need anything dry cleaned?"_

"I'm not staying there anymore!"

After the call ends, Simon makes his way to the restaurant he and Kate had decided on the day before. Kate Pegg is waiting for him in a quiet corner booth. In skinny jeans, a t-shirt and sandals, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun, she has her forehead cradled in a hand, elbow on the table. Her menu is open before her, but even though her head is bowed, Simon doesn't think she's reading it. She doesn't look up at him as he approaches the table on the heels of a hostess. The woman seats him, leaves him with a menu and departs, and Kate still doesn't look up. It's a moment before Simon finally hears the faint rumble of a snore come from his sister.

"Katy," he says. "Wake up, Katy Pig." He nudges her foot with his own and she jumps. She raises her head, squints at him in momentary confusion, then relaxes and gives him a weak wave.

"I feel like badgers are chewing my frontal lobe," she groans.

"Still jet lagged, huh?" he says. "Today it's badgers, yesterday it was goats. You've got an entire menagerie in your cranium."

"And a construction crew," she says, rubbing her eyes. "And a first-year high school band. And the entire cast of _Lord of the Dance_. Oh, by the way, Mum called this morning. She wanted me to make sure you're wearing sunscreen out here." She has a quick look at Simon's arms as she picks up her menu. "I'll tell her you have been. Christ, Simon, you're in L.A., you couldn't pick up a little color?"

Simon opens his menu too. "You're one to talk. Why didn't she just ask me herself? She knows my number, my e-mail, she's on Twitter."

"She didn't just call about you. She called to harass me about Peter."

"That bloke she tried to set you up with?"

"Yeah."

"She still on about him?"

"Like a broken record. I keep telling her his laugh reminds me of a revving lawn mower."

Simon makes a face. "She ought to know better. Comedy and performing arts run in the family, we need partners with good laughs."

"Exactly!" She looks down at her menu and starts browsing. "How's Tom's laugh?"

Simon's eyes pop up from his menu in alarm. After a moment, he realizes why she's asking, and with a roll of his eyes he looks down again. "I'm not setting you up with him."

"Bet he'd like me if he met me."

"Of course he would, but not like that. You can't have him. My career isn't your personal celebrity dating game."

"Oh, keep your hair on, I'm only joking… _mostly_ joking. I could never go out with him anyway, his life is insane."

"Tell me about it," Simon mutters.

"I couldn't handle it, being followed everywhere I go, my business plastered all over the tabloids."

"That shit you read isn't his life, by the way. It's made-up garbage. And speaking of meeting him, we're invited to supper tomorrow night, so I hope you're free."

She stares at him with her mouth hanging open. "What?"

"His assistant just called to invite us before I got here."

"I'm going to meet Tom Cruise?"

Simon grins. "Yeah. You all right there?"

She sits back and stares blankly past Simon's head. "Oh, my god."

"He's just a guy, Katy. He's no different than me."

She looks at him again and gives him a disbelieving look.

"Okay, he's _slightly_ different than me, yes, but what I mean is don't treat him like he's some kind of exhibit. He's a person just like us. He eats, sleeps and pisses just like everybody else."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"No, Kate, you cannot watch him pee."

She shoots him an annoyed look and says, "I know he's just a person, I'm not stupid." She chews her lips as she examines the lunch specials. Simon can hear her sandal tapping the floor beneath the table. She's fidgety now. She wants to ask a million questions about Tom and his life and all the rumors she's ever heard about him, but she doesn't. No, to her credit she holds her tongue. Simon smiles to himself, feeling a little proud of her, and goes back to his menu.

Their server arrives and takes their orders. She leaves with the menus and once she drops off their drinks, Kate looks closely at Simon and says, "You look tired."

Simon shakes his head. "I'm fine."

"What is that, sympathy jet lag?"

"I've had a rough couple of days, is all. Feels like I'm operating at half-capacity."

"What's been going on?"

Simon sighs, wondering how much he should tell her. "I'm just not a fan of hotels, I suppose. But Tom's place is kind of hectic. His staff's coming and going all the time, and now Minnie's angry with me for moving out –"

"Wait, wait, wait. You were staying with him?"

"Yeah. Oh, don't tell me you didn't know. I've seen more than one gossip rag hiding in your purse from time to time. You can't tell me you haven't picked one up since you got here."

 _"Wait, wait, wait,"_ she says more urgently, now actually sitting forward. "The tabloids have reported you staying with him?"

"'Reported' makes it sound so professional. Yeah, you know how they are. Must be a slow news week. At any rate, yes, I was staying with him while I looked for a place, but it wasn't working out, so I left the same day your flight got in."

"But he still let you use his driver to pick me up?"

"Yeah, that's how he is. We're friends, he wouldn't retract his offer just 'cause I moved out."

"Did you two have an argument?"

"No. It's like you said before about dating him; hanging out with him is like offering yourself up to a firing squad. We went to lunch a few days ago and you should've seen the paparazzi swarm."

"You've had paparazzi follow you before. Remember when you were shooting MI4 in Vancouver and I came up to visit and we were out shopping together? Had a guy follow us through the bloody super market."

"Not the same. I get one guy here and there; Tom gets an entire army. I'd been staying with him barely two days when that story showed up on the internet. I didn't tell anyone but Nick that I was staying with him. Tom swears no one on his staff said anything, but I know that can't be true."

"Well, what exactly is the big deal? You were staying with a friend, they got some shots of you two having lunch. So what?"

Simon glances toward the restaurant's ceiling and mutters to himself, "Why do I always end up having these conversations in public?"

"Simon, what is it? You're moodier than normal. Have you eaten today?"

"Where's your iPad?"

"What?"

"Did you bring it?"

With a frown of confusion, Kate digs her tablet out of her large handbag and passes it over. Simon gets online and a quick search engine inquiry locates what he's looking for in seconds. And then some.

He finds the article Tom had showed him two days ago, but since then there's been a new development. Another article has surfaced, this one showing pictures of Tom and Simon conversing on the sidewalk, first in front of the coffee shop and later before the vintage clothing store. In certain images it's clear they're having an argument. Neither seems to be gesturing very much and Simon's eyes are covered by sunglasses, but there's tension in the very way they're both standing.

And then the final shots, the hug before Simon took his leave. That the two of them are more than friends is evident here, or at least it seems so to Simon. Granted, there's no way to tell from pictures how long Simon stood there in Tom's arms, but the static nature of these pictures, how they're frozen in time, accurately mimics what it had felt like to Simon; like an eternity. He stares at one picture in which he's made a move to pull away but Tom won't let him go. Tom's arms remain stubbornly around his waist, while Simon's hands rest awkwardly on Tom's upper arms.

"Are you gonna tell me what you're looking at?" Kate asks. Simon looks up at her, remembers she's there. He wonders which article he should show her first. He hasn't read this new one yet, but the pictures are certainly far more damning than the first set. He scrolls back to the top of the page and reads a bit, skims through a few paragraphs. More of the same; speculation and bits of information that no one outside of Tom's house could possibly know.

"You're just snooping, aren't you?" she says.

"Relax, I'm not interested in seeing the sort of fifty shades of whatever you read in your spare time. I just wanted to show you this." He opts for today's article, hands her iPad back to her and sits quietly while she reads.

She scrolls and frowns, scrolls and frowns. Then she stops and Simon's sure she's gotten to the set of pictures in which Simon and Tom are embracing.

"That's today's news," Simon says. "Go back a page to the search results and click the first result. That'll be the article I was talking about before."

"Simon," she says as she does as she's told, "why are you showing me this? You're not actually concerned about gay rumors, are you? You of all people? I could see why Tom might be worried, but you –"

"Why should Tom be worried?"

"Well… I just assumed. Isn't he?"

"No, not really."

"Oh. Well, what about you?"

"I'm not showing this to you because of gay rumors. I'm showing you because it's easier than saying it flat-out. I've said it over and over in my head, and no matter what, it sounds absurd. This is the best way to tell you that I could think of."

"Tell me what? That you like men? I'm pretty sure we had that discussion about fifteen years ago."

Simon says nothing. He watches her and waits until finally she stops tapping her screen and looks up at him. Realization lights up her face. It's like watching sunlight sweep across the ground as it peeks out from behind clouds.

"Shh!" he says when it looks like she's about to speak. "Whisper if you're gonna say it out loud."

She leans in and hisses, "You and Tom? Are you serious? When? How? _When_?"

"Vancouver," he whispers back.

"That was months ago!" she says out loud. "Was it when I was there?"

"No… well…"

"Simon! Why are you only just now telling me?"

"Because it was none of your bloody business. Keep your voice down."

"So… you were staying with him because the two of you are…"

"Yes."

"And you left because…?"

"Exactly what I told you. He's got a leak somewhere. Someone's been sharing private info with the tabs. Did you read those articles?"

"Uh…" She looks down at her iPad again. "This one says he's trying to convince you to stay for the six months, which I thought surely must be a fabrication, right?" She looks at him and he just shakes his head. Her eyebrows go up as she looks down and keeps skimming. "The first article you showed me said something about your obsessive carb phobia and… an engagement ring." When she looks up again, her mouth is hanging open. Simon just nods. "Wait, hang on…" She stops, holds up a hand to keep him silent as she thinks. "Tom Cruise –"

"Careful," he warns. "Mind your volume."

She leans in again and whispers at him, "– is gay."

"Good work there, detective."

"He's actually, literally gay."

"Yes."

" _Gay_ -gay. Rainbow gay. It's-raining-men-hallelujah gay."

"That's one way to put it."

"I thought that was just a rumor."

"It is, technically. No one knows anything for sure. Unless you count his staff… and his ex-wives… and his ex-boyfriends, oh god." Simon drops his face into his hand.

"Is that a problem?"

He raises his head again. "No. Not exactly. It's just I'm not sure I'm ready for the world to know about us. Him and me being together is mere speculation at this point, and look." He points to her iPad. "It's already started. Can you imagine what'll happen to my life if word really does get out? That's why I had to leave his place. The longer I stayed, the more gossip I was handing the mole on a silver fucking platter."

Kate thinks for a moment. "Are you two in love?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

She cocks her head, looking annoyed at his obtuseness. "We're talking about your relationship with a man who's asked you to move in with him. I would think love would be an important matter, wouldn't you?"

"No, I mean why does it matter to _you_?"

"Because if you love him, that complicates things a bit. You can't just bail."

"I wasn't planning on just bailing."

"But you left."

"Yeah, I left, but I didn't break up with him."

"So, you do love him."

" _Yes_ , Katy, I love him, okay? And he loves me. It's one big man-on-man love fest."

She makes a face at that, but pushes on. "He wanted to propose," she says quietly. Her expression softens. "Oh, Simon –"

"Ah, ah, don't make a big deal out of that. Almost wet myself when I found that ring and I don't want to talk about it now. It's bad enough it's in the gossip rags. When I find out who's leaking information, I swear to whatever god they believe in I will cut their throat out and shove it up their –"

"He bought a ring and everything?"

"Yeah."

"And you said no."

"He didn't propose. I found the ring by accident and he came clean about it. We agreed to put the marriage talk on the back burner for now, he shoved the ring back in a drawer and we pretended nothing happened."

"Tom Cruise proposed to my brother," she says to herself.

"Katy, for god's sake," Simon says through the hands he's cupped over his face.

"So, hang on, if you love him, how could you just leave? It's gotten serious with him. It's been going on for months, he nearly _proposed_. The two of you, you're in this together, and you just left him?"

Simon drops his hands from his face and snaps, "I didn't _leave_ him. We're still together. He needs to find his leak before I can stay there, that's all. His life is a fucking sideshow, Katy. I wasn't about to offer myself up as the next attraction in that circus."

"Not ever?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you're serious about him, you'll have to come to terms with his life at some point. Do you plan on staying closeted forever?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Because." She shrugs and looks down, picks at the table cloth. "I always just assumed you'd come out eventually. Like, really come out."

"You did?"

"Yeah. You always seem so unapologetic about who you are, proud, and completely intolerant of ignorance." She meets his eyes, and now hers look a little questioning, a little sad. She looks like his Little Sister. She's been an adult for a long time now, but sometimes it's hard to see her that way. She'll always be eight years his junior. She'll always be his baby sis Katy Pig. And now he realizes that she'll always look up to him, just a bit at least.

"You're disappointed," he says quietly.

"No," she says quickly, leaning forth and reaching across the table to touch his hand. "It's a big deal, coming out. I might be straight, but I'm not oblivious to how huge it is, and I'd never be disappointed in you for doing what you needed to."

"But you thought I was better than this."

"Simon –"

"No, you've got a point. Tom basically said the same."

"Hey," she says gently. "I'm not disappointed in you. It's not about you not coming out right this minute. Something just feels a bit… I dunno, off. Like this isn't you. That's all."

"You know I'm a private person."

"Yeah, I know you are. I also know you're a bit of a stubborn git. Sometimes you do things just to be contrary. You get off on it."

"I've got to have _some_ fun, don't I?"

"Simon. You are Scotty two-point-oh. You've worked with Leonard Nimoy and some of the biggest directors in Hollywood. You're responsible for movies that people still quote years after the fact, people dress up as your characters for Halloween. You've got your own action figures. And you're shagging Tom Bloody Cruise! How much more fun do you need?"

He rolls his eyes. "All right, so what's your point? That because people might now be curious about my sexuality, that's the reason I'm suddenly afraid to come out? You think I'm doing it out of spite?"

"Yes."

"I'm not hiding."

"All right." She retracts her hand. "If you need to talk –"

"Thanks," he snaps, cutting her off. He instantly feels bad about his tone and glances up at her. "Thank you," he says more softly this time. "I mean that."

She gives him a soft smile, then changes the subject: "What'd you order?"

"The burger with the portobello mushroom caps instead of bread."

"You and your carbs."

"You know white bread basically turns to sugar soon as it touches your tongue."

"So, have some whole grain. I'm sure they've got it."

"Eh."

"Just have some bloody bread, Simon, it won't kill you."

"Nah, had some yesterday and this morning. That's plenty."

"My god, you fit right in, here in L.A., don't you?"

After lunch, they head out and do some shopping. It's while they're browsing a vintage t-shirt shop that Simon realizes they're being followed. While sifting through the racks that stand outside the store, he notices a man with a camera a little ways down the sidewalk.

Simon looks away, back down at the shirts. Kate is at his side going on about something, but Simon isn't listening anymore. As discreetly as possible he shifts position, moving around the rack to a place where he can watch the paparazzo without turning his head. With his sunglasses pushed up high on his nose so they completely cover his eyes, he raises his eyes alone, not his face, and watches the pap snapping away.

He scans the street. The pap is alone; no others are present. Simon is thankful for that at least. If Tom had been there, it would have been a free-for-all. But it's just Simon, and gay rumors or not, he's just not as exciting as Tom. He's more okay with that than anyone could ever know.

"Are you listening?" Kate finally asks.

"Paparazzo, nine o'clock," Simon mutters.

"What?" She glances around, spots the man and quickly looks away. "My brother the movie star," she says with a little grin.

"He's here because of the rumors. It's not about me, it's about Tom."

"What about that guy that followed us in Vancouver?"

"I was working with Tom at the time, wasn't I?"

"Simon, you were in the biggest movie of 2009. Don't tell me no one gives a shit about you outside of Tom."

Simon knows she's right but isn't quite convinced. "Wanna try and shake him?"

"Where shall we go?"

He thinks fast. He raises a hand to wave at no one, and when the pap turns to see who it is, Simon grabs Kate's hand and tugs her along.

They hurry away and don't look back. Simon hopes they've lost him as they turn a corner, then another and finally duck into a shop, but no luck; a quick glance out the shop's front window shows the same pap across the street.

"Shit," Simon mutters. With a sigh, he stops to have a look at his surroundings and finally notices that it's a salon they've hurried into. Women are seated in rows of chairs, having their finger- and toenails tended to by white-coated staff.

He looks at Kate. "Long as we're here," he says.

Kate grins at him. "You want a manicure?"

"Yeah, why not?" He holds up a hand to examine his nails. "I was thinking something in a fire-engine red might be nice."

* * *

After spending the day with his sister and being followed around by a man with a camera, Simon returns to the hotel and a less than impressed Minnie. He picks her up from the hotel's kennel and takes her upstairs where he discovers another reason she might be upset with him.

"Well, why didn't you tell me I forgot your favorite toy at Tom's?" he asks. Seated in the middle of the room, she merely blinks at him.

Simon sits on the sofa and takes out his phone. He stares at it and contemplates calling Tom for the millionth time since leaving his house. He should. He really should, but _Tom_ hasn't even called. He had his assistant do it for him…

Simon stops that train of thought before it gets ugly, but he can't get away from its inevitable conclusion; he doesn't want to make the first move. Yes, Tom invited him and Kate to dinner, but he didn't do it himself, which, to Simon, says more than the invitation itself.

It's a childish game, and Simon may very well be playing it by himself, but fuck it. Instead of pressing the speed dial for Tom's phone, he goes to his phone book and finds Thorne's name. He taps it and is presented with eight different ways to get in touch with the man. Simon picks the first number on the list.

Thorne doesn't pick up, which isn't surprising. He's probably already on his phone, pestering someone else. Simon is in the middle of leaving a voice message when a little beep tells him someone is calling him. It's Thorne.

_"Yes, Mr. Pegg!"_

"Shh, don't… are you still at Tom's?"

 _"I am, yes,"_ Thorne replies more softly. _"You don't want him to know I'm talking to you, do you?"_

"No, I don't. I was just wondering if you happened to run across Minnie's blinky ball. The one that lights up and makes noises."

 _"Uhhh, hang on."_ About thirty seconds passes, then Thorne says, _"Yep, it's here. It was in the cupboard where we kept her toys."_

"I thought I got everything out of there. It must've been nudged into a corner. Okay, I'm gonna need that back ASAP. She's glaring at me from across the room. I'm afraid to go to sleep."

_"I can drop it off to you now on my way home."_

"Thorne, this is the one time your anal retentiveness is a plus. How long will it take you to get here?"

Simon and Minnie meet Thorne in the hotel's lobby. Thorne arrives with Minnie's blinky ball in hand and comes charging in like he's delivering an organ to a waiting transplant patient. At some point during his journey, the ball was activated and apparently Thorne doesn't know how to shut it off. The ball flickers blue, green, white, over and over. Thorne nearly heads for the front desk but spots Simon and changes course with a little _squeak_ of his shoes on the marble tile.

"Mr. Pegg!" he exclaims, smiling. "Hi! I'm here!"

"I can see that," Simon says as he rises from his seat in lobby's waiting area. Thorne rushes up to him, ball outstretched. "Don't you know how to turn it off? You're gonna give someone a seizure."

"Sorry, sir," Thorne says, slightly out of breath as he comes to a stop before Simon. He hands the ball over. "I don't even know how I turned it on in the first place."

Minnie has reared up on her hind legs to watch the ball change hands. Simon shuts it off and scowls at her. "No. You can have it later. You've been awful the last few days, you're lucky you're getting it at all." He looks up at Thorne again. "Thanks."

"My pleasure. Shoot, I should have brought your bracelet."

"It's fine, I can get it later. Besides, if Tom's got hold of it, he'll miss it if it disappears."

Thorne cocks his head. "Sir, why is it you don't want Mr. Cruise knowing you're in contact with me. These are your possessions, you should have them back."

"Yeah, but… it's complicated."

Thorne's expression turns sad. "He loves you very much."

Simon lowers his gaze, shuffles his feet. "He hasn't called."

"You haven't called him, either."

Simon grumbles at him, though not actual words, just noises.

"Sir, I know we don't know each other very well, but… is there something you need to talk about? It might help if you did."

Simon sighs and looks at Thorne's young face. There's a lot Simon would like to talk about, actually, but with Thorne? He could talk to his sister. Or Nick. But he hasn't, not about everything that's been on his mind. And he thinks he knows why.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Simon asks.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you straight?"

Thorne smiles sheepishly. "No, sir."

Simon nods. "I had a feeling. Well… any plans for the next hour or so?"

They leave the hotel and find a quiet coffee shop. Simon doesn't go entirely unnoticed here, but no one approaches him as he orders for himself and Thorne and brings their drinks to their table on the patio where Thorne is already seated. Minnie sits obediently at Thorne's feet, her leash in his hand. They've managed to find a table away from other people so they can talk in private; it's a little chilly tonight and most customers are staying inside.

Simon sits across from Thorne, passes the cappuccino to him, then takes a sip of his own tea and bobs his head to the sound of music coming from within the shop. Someone's opened the door, and half a verse and the chorus drift outside before the door closes again:

> _"Shop shutters rattle down and I'm cutting the crowd  
>  All scented and descending from the satellite towns  
> The neon is graffiti singing make a new start  
> So I look for a plot where I can bury my broken heart_
> 
> _No I know I won't forget you  
>  But I'll forget myself  
> If the city will forgive me_

"I like this band," Simon remarks, gesturing toward the door as it closes. "Tom impressed me early on in our courtship when he told me he had all their albums. They're a UK band and I don't meet many Americans who like them."

"He has very eclectic taste," Thorne says.

"Yeah. I thought he was lying just to get into my pants – er, again. But he proved on the spot that he knew the words to many of their songs. It was our second real date while we were filming MI4. We were at some restaurant, just talking. The subject of music came up, he said this was one of his favorite bands, and I thought he'd just picked the first UK band to pop into his head to try to win me over; even after I'd fallen into bed with him the second time, I was still unsure about being with him." Simon smiles to himself. "It's like he knew exactly what to say to me to erase all my uncertainty, at least in that moment. He just looked into my eyes and started reciting lyrics like a fucking poet, and the song he picked was just… Well, suffice it to say, I went home with him that night, and I really shouldn't be telling you any of this."

"You like talking about him."

Simon looks up from his tea at Thorne, who is watching him with an uncharacteristically sage and calm look on his face.

"You were smiling to yourself while you spoke," Thorne explains. "And blushing a little. Sounds like it was a very romantic evening."

Simon nods. "It was one of those nights with him when anything was possible and for a while I knew I was ready to pack up and go anywhere with him. He's really kind of magical like that, you know, he's a special guy."

"But things have changed now."

"No. Well… it's just that life sets in, you know? Reality. It's not all poetry and flowers, it's hard. I want to be with him, that's never changed, but I'm not sure living with him is the best thing for me right now."

Thorne nods. "Have you found a place of your own yet?"

"Nah. Been out with the realtor again, but nothing suits me. I know I should just pick something already, but I'll be living there for six whole months. It's kind of a big deal. At this rate I'll be sleeping on Pine's couch." Simon snorts. "Tom'll just love that."

Thorne wants to say something else, but hesitates. This must be strange for him. Simon is not his boss, but Thorne's been conditioned to treat Simon as such, and here they are, about to have an intimate chat about Simon's relationship troubles (with Thorne's actual boss), like they're old mates.

"Where to start," Simon says.

"Well, sir, why don't we start with this," Thorne begins cautiously. "What was the reason for your departure?"

"For starters, someone's been leaking information to the tabloids about me and Tom. I mean, there were other things that irked me; you lot being instructed to treat me like a child, David grim-reapering all over the place. Those things didn't help, but the clincher was the mole. I can't stay in a place that has obvious security issues."

"There've been stories about you and Mr. Cruise in the tabloids?"

"Oh, yeah. You haven't seen them? They know everything. They know that Tom wants me to move in, they know about the ring –"

"There's a ring?"

"Yeah, Tom got me a ring. I found it by accident."

"But that was just a gift, wasn't it? It wasn't… it couldn't have been…"

Simon just gives Thorne a "you know Tom" kind of look. Thorne's mouth drops open.

"He proposed?" Thorne whispers.

"No, but he was thinking about it. I'm flattered, I really am, but this is part of the problem. He does things without thinking. We're not getting married. Not any time soon, I mean, Jesus, take a minute, meet my mum, learn my middle name."

"He knows your middle name."

"That was a joke."

"Oh. Of course. Sorry."

"No, don't apologize. I know he knows me. The guy knows more about me than I do, that's not the point. He's been testing me, Thorne, seeing how I react to things instead of just asking me how I feel. I feel like a rat in a maze, I don't like jumping through hoops."

Thorne nods, watching Simon with a soft, sympathetic look.

"I know you haven't known him as long as some of the other staff," Simon says, "but you've been with him nearly a year, you know him pretty well now. What do you think's in his head about all this?"

Thorne considers, sips his coffee. "Well, sir… I think he's probably a teensy bit scared."

"Of what?"

"Of a lot of things, but mostly of losing you. I think he wants what you want; someone who'll love him as he is, but I think he gets nervous about being himself sometimes. I don't know all the details of his past relationships, but I know there've been a lot of hurt feelings. I think he's just been trying to ease you into things because he doesn't want to frighten you."

Simon nods, thinking that over.

"Sir?" says Thorne. "What does my sexual preference have to do with any of this?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, sorry about that, it's just I've got a best friend that I tell almost everything, and a sister who I'm fairly close with, but for some reason I haven't discussed the extent of my issues with Tom with either of them. I think it's because they're straight. As great as they are, as much as they don't care who sleeps with who, the fact is this just isn't something they deal with; coming out, staying closeted. Nick can understand keeping private things private; he's in the public eye too, but it's not the same. My sister, she won't admit it but I think she's a bit disappointed that I seem to care so much about gay rumors, and fuck it, I'm disappointed in myself. I shouldn't care, but I do, because of Tom. And it's not because of the hint of stigma that still clings to him. He thinks that's why, but it's not. It's because privacy to him means closing down an entire go-cart facility or water park just so he and his friends and family can have a little fun without being harassed. That's what his life is, and if people find out about us, that's what my life becomes too. And yeah, I'm scared. It scares the shit out of me. If no one knows I'm attracted to men, then no one will think we're together. That's my issue with coming out now. It's not just that it's nobody's business, it's the fact that confirming my sexuality removes a degree of separation between me and Tom.

"Nick would say fuck it, do what you want. Which is easy to say, but I'm not even sure what I want anymore. Kate says the same, but there's that hint of sadness in her that her big brother isn't who she thought he was. So… I guess I'd like to know what you think about it. The whole coming out thing."

Thorne exhales heavily and replies, "I'm not sure how to answer that. The simple answer is it's fine to keep it quiet until you don't want to anymore, but it's not just you that you're worried about now. Right?"

"Yeah, that's the other thing: Tom's getting antsy. Been in the closet so long he's about ready to burst out of it. I don't want to keep him closeted if he doesn't want to be, that's not fair."

"Couples compromise, Mr. Pegg. If one isn't ready to do something, the other waits. That's love."

Simon gives him a faint smile. "How old are you again?"

"Twenty-four, sir."

Simon shakes his head to himself. A seventeen-year age gap feels almost unbridgeable. "I shouldn't be laying all this on you."

"No, it's fine. I'm happy to help, or at least listen."

"Well, at the very least your youth makes you exceedingly optimistic, and maybe some of that will rub off on me. What about you? Are you out to everyone you know?"

"Everyone I know well, yes. And people who don't know me well just assume. If they ask, I'm honest. I've been out since high school. Since _before_ high school, according to some; I've never been particularly good about hiding it. But high school was when I started really being honest about who I was."

"How'd that go over?"

"I had an incredible network of friends, mostly girls. Anyone who gave me trouble had them to deal with, and let me tell you, them bitches fought _dirty_."

A bit of a fake Southern accent comes out in that last sentence. It's the first real sign of quirkiness that Simon's seen in Thorne. It's nice to see and makes Simon relax. He chuckles and sips his tea.

"But of course there was always that tiny part of me that craved mass approval," Thorne continues with a sigh. "No matter how amazing my friends were, I always wanted to win over the other side, the popular crowd."

"The jocks and cheerleaders."

"Yeah. That's always been my downfall, trying to please everyone. You've seen _Mean Girls_ , haven't you?"

"Who hasn't?"

"That was me for a while." Thorne winces. "It was not pretty. I wanted so desperately to impress the people who snickered behind my back and called me every slur in the book that I turned on my friends, at least for a while. I was lucky that some of them took me back in the end."

"You were young – er, young _er_. Teenagers aren't known for their stellar decision-making skills. And you learned your lesson, right?"

"Yeah, I did, and it was a good life lesson, but I still struggle with it. High school bullies exist everywhere in life; people never really leave high school, you know? People smile at you one minute, then laugh behind your back the next. I still know people like that, some of them are assistants and interns for other celebrities and companies. It's competitive. Who you work for and what your responsibilities are is important to these people, and to some, being a 'gofer' for Tom Cruise doesn't cut it. You should hear what some of them say. They don't respect Mr. Cruise. And they have no idea what my job entails."

"Celebrity counseling, for starters," Simon says.

"You can bet that's going on my resume," Thorne says with a little of the sass he'd displayed earlier. Then he sobers and adds, "Nothing I can say will change their minds about me. I know that, but I have to keep reminding myself. I still want their approval. To this very day."

"I don't think that ever really goes away," Simon says. "We all have demons, little voices inside us that fill us with doubt. You get better at ignoring it, but it's always there."

"Even for you?"

"Sure. Look at me, I'm in a relationship with an amazing guy and I can't fucking get it together long enough to just be with him. It almost didn't matter before. Being single, you're just you, but when you become a couple, that label becomes part of who you are. I feel like… Tom's that missing limb. After not seeing him for a while, I get used to sort of being on my own and I wear that independence rather proudly, carry it around like an appendage I'd be handicapped without. And then I'm back with him and it feels strange because being a couple hasn't been part of my identity. It feels all weird, like I'm suddenly being forced to write with my left hand. But when I do get used to it, it's like… it's like I've got my right hand back again."

He pauses and frowns to himself, thinking about the general clumsiness of his last couple of days. "So, that's what that is," he mumbles to himself. Then to Thorne he says, "I don't believe in two people becoming one. You're an individual no matter what. But people do become a part of you, the ones that matter do, and he's done that with me and it feels right to be with him. It's nice. I don't want to have to hide that, but…"

"But you hide because that's what's right for you right now," Thorne offers.

"Yeah, but it's 'cause I feel like I have to, which just annoys me. There's a tidal wave of attention and gossip that's only being held back because no one knows anything for sure. I'm just not ready for all that, I can barely stand the little trickle of it we're getting now. But this whole thing, though, it's so much bigger than me, being closeted in the world that we live in. Before, it was only my business, but now I've got Tom wanting to come out and I'm holding him back. I'm holding back another soldier. That's not fair. Wars aren't won with silence. I feel as though hiding is like telling the bigots that they're right."

"We don't all go into battle simultaneously, Mr. Pegg. Each one of us in our own time. That's what my grandmother, my nan, said to me. She was the first person I officially told that I liked boys, when I was ten years old. She nodded and smiled and said that was okay. I immediately started crying, in part because I was so relieved that she wasn't mad at me, but also because I thought I would disappoint my mom and dad. She said they'd love me no matter what. I asked her if I should tell them right away, because I'd always known and I'd never said anything about it and I felt guilty for keeping things from them. Later on when I was older, she admitted that in that moment she'd been thinking that they'd probably already suspected, but what she said to ten-year-old me was this: she said our truths are our own. We don't owe them to anybody. And we should share them only when it's right. Each one of us in our own time. Nothing wrong with that."

"You've got a wise old nan."

Thorne positively beams. "She's my favorite."

"Thank you, Thorne."

"You're very welcome, sir. And about that mole you mentioned, I can do some snooping for you if you'd like. You're right, it must be someone on the staff. I can keep an ear out for you."

"That'd be great, thanks. Hey, you don't think it could be David, do you?"

"David? Nah, he wouldn't. That's not his style. He hates the tabloids and he's very protective of his friendship with Mr. Cruise."

"I suppose you're right, he doesn't seem the type. But… I've read quite a bit about what's gone on in that organization in the past and there's a lot that's downright scary. I don't think less of Tom because of it. Fact is this isn't the only religion that doesn't make sense to me. But I don't know David, I don't know what his motives are, and he clearly doesn't like me."

"David and I aren't exactly besties, but I can talk to him for you, feel him out a bit. He's not the one leaking information, he can't be, but it could very well be that he's not crazy about you." Thorne leans in and says quietly, "You know how _they_ view homosexuality, right? They're not in favor, let's just put it that way. David wants Tom to be happy too, but there's no way he approves of your relationship."

Simon glowers and asks, "What sort of influence could he have on Tom?"

"Not a small one, I can tell you that. But Mr. Cruise isn't the same person he used to be. He's in a place now where he's more willing to stand up for what he wants. He's not going to break up with you because of David."

"Still –"

"Still," Thorne says with a nod. "I'll see what David has to say himself."

Simon nods. "Thanks. You've been a big help."

Thorne beams again. "Really?"

"Yeah. I've enjoyed talking to you. You're a good guy. Now because you've helped me, I feel obligated to warn you that Tom knows about your secret cupboard. So stop hiding shit in there."

"Shoot. Nobody _else_ goes in there. Why would he?"

"Because it's his cupboard. You can't hide things from the man in his own house."

Thorne winces. "Sometimes I break things."

"Well, you should slow down sometimes, Thorne. You flit around like a caffeinated hummingbird."

Thorne nods. "Yes, sir. Good point, sir."

"And stop calling me 'sir'. I think it's safe to say we're friends now. Call me by my name. My _first_ name, I mean."

Thorne hesitates.

"For Christ sake, you're uptight," Simon sighs. "When no one else is around. How about that?"

Thorne visibly relaxes and smiles. "Yes, sir… Simon. Yes… Simon."

Simon sits back in his seat and laughs. "That's a start, anyway."

* * *

> **"PEGG CRUISES ON OUT OF TOM'S POSH L.A. PAD"**

The headline stares at Simon, screams at him really, from his iPad early the following morning. It's the worst way to wake up, but he can't turn his eyes away from it, can't back out of the web page he's looking at. He wouldn't even have found the article if several of his Twitter followers hadn't tweeted him the link. Still lying in bed, he holds the tablet close to his face so he can see the print without his glasses. And he reads on.

>   
> _"Pegg was staying with Cruise while looking for his own digs in L.A. The two became close during the filming of the fourth_ Mission: Impossible _film (due in theaters at the end of this year). Pegg had been singing Cruise's praises, but now it seems he too has pegged Cruise as the insufferable egomaniac the rest of us know him to be."_  
> 

"Oh, fucking hell," Simon grumbles. "I don't know what to be more upset about, the insult about Tom or that awful play on my name."

> _"Rumors have been swirling about the true nature of the relationship between the two costars. Earlier this week, there were reports of Cruise begging Pegg to move in with him and there was even talk of a men's diamond ring. The carb-conscious Pegg even had his favorite cookies sneaked into the house at one point. Sounds to us like Pegg was making himself comfortable. That is until the argument that sent him packing."_

Simon sits up. He grabs for his glasses on the nightstand and shoves them on so he can hold the tablet a comfortable distance from his face. He thinks about his last day at Tom's, the argument in the bedroom, the sudden sound of activity out in the hallway alerting them that someone else was in the house. Len.

> _"'The ring was just the tip of the iceberg,' says a close friend of Cruise. 'It wasn't the thing that made [Pegg] leave. He's terrified of a close, personal friend of Tom's, one of Tom's Scientologist friends who gives Tom a lot of advice. Tom respects him so his influence on Tom is significant. Simon's convinced the guy doesn't approve of his relationship with Tom.'_
> 
> _"The nature of said relationship has yet to be determined, but it's no secret that Scientology views homosexuality as a sin, and according to some, the organization has had its say in Cruise's past relationships. Looks like Pegg got out before he could be ousted."_

Simon tosses the tablet onto the bed at his side and curses under his breath. He's about to get up and grumble his way to the bathroom when his phone chirps. A message from Kate:

> _"Did you see the article???"_

Simon groans. It's too early to be discussing what he's just read. His brain's still foggy and he really doesn't want to try to organize his thoughts on the matter yet, much less try to thumb them into his phone in any coherent way. But when Kate texts him a link to the article she's talking about, it isn't the one he'd just read.

> **"From Brockworth to Beverly Hills: Simon Pegg keeps it real as he treats himself to a manicure and pedicure session"**

It's a news magazine from the UK and they aren't being subtle about thinking that Simon's gone completely Hollywood. The accompanying pictures show him 'looking bored' in the salon, checking out the job the staff has done on his nails, then strolling down the sunny street with Kate, sunglasses on, coffee in hand.

It's far less upsetting than the previous article, though, and Simon is actually able to smile.

Kate messages him again:

> _"Have you heard of galvanic facials? I think we should do that next, really give them something to talk about!"_

Simon replies:

> _"Just come over to my hotel. I'll shimmy across the carpet in my socks and shock your face for free."_

Simon puts his phone down and goes back to the article he still has open on his tablet. He frowns at the quotes from the Source as though trying to see the person's true identity within the letters and punctuation, but nothing jumps out at him. It could be anybody, but now Simon's antennae are quivering towards Len, who was in the house during the argument in Tom's bedroom. Simon knows his own voice must have carried out into the hallway.

He should call Tom and warn him to keep an eye on Len, but of course he's not going to. He grabs for his phone again with annoyance. If the guy would just call him first, this silly, childish game would be over already and they could talk like adults. Simon is aware that he could very well end the game himself, right here and now, if he wanted to. He hates himself a little as he sends Thorne, not Tom, a simple text:

> _"What do you think about Len?"_

Minutes later:

> _"I'll keep an eye on him."_

With that done, he gets up, makes himself halfway decent and takes Minnie out for a walk. Back in his room he orders and eats breakfast, showers and makes himself pretty. He throws on a comfy long-sleeved shirt, jeans, army cap, watch, bracelet…

That's right, Tom has his favorite brown leather bracelet. He puts on a black one instead, but isn't satisfied with it, even though it's always looked fine before.

He wants to call Tom. The bracelet is the perfect excuse. That's why this black one isn't cutting it now. But his stubborn pride is having none of that. He'll be seeing Tom tonight, anyway, there's no need to call him now. And no time, he tells himself; he's got things to do.

* * *

An hour into a battery of interviews, Simon bids his sixth interviewer a good day and watches her leave. Just one more to go.

A young man, with dark hair and eyes, and his camera man enter the room where Simon is seated before a large poster for the fourth _Mission: Impossible_ movie. Simon does a double take. The interviewer is slender and broad-shouldered, wearing a plaid shirt and tie. He's handsome, but rather normal looking. Nothing about him stands out, but he looks familiar. Simon instantly dislikes him and can't figure out why.

The camera man sets up his equipment while the interviewer steps toward Simon with a smile and an extended hand. He's your average, good-looking young person, square-jawed and toothy-grinned. His ears stick out a little. His short hair is slightly spiked at the front.

"Mr. Pegg, it's good to meet you," he says. "Brian Pace."

"Hi," Simon says, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you too."

Brian steps back and takes the seat opposite Simon. "How's L.A. been treating you?"

"A bit like a pig on a spit," Simon replies jovially. "Sunscreen companies love me."

Brian laughs at that with just the right amount of chuckle. Simon often finds that interviewers try too hard to connect and put the interviewee at ease, laughing too hard at things that are only marginally funny, which usually ends up having the opposite effect. But this apparently isn't Brian's first rodeo; he seems to have this type of small talk down.

"You're looking great, though, L.A. agrees with you," Brian says. "You probably don't remember, but I saw you the other day, out having lunch with Chris Pine and Tom Cruise. I was sitting a few tables away from you."

Simon stares at him, remembering. Of course, he's the amateur paparazzo who was taking stealth pictures with his phone. Simon's initial dislike of the man seems validated, but he tries to hold his judgment for the time being; everyone makes mistakes. The guy probably has no idea what he did was in poor taste.

"No, I don't remember, sorry," Simon says.

"Yeah, I figured. I was just some random guy at the same restaurant, no one you'd remember."

"Hey, Bry," says the other man in the room. He's standing behind one of the two cameras he has set up, the one trained on Simon. He's hunched over and peering through it as he gives Brian the thumbs-up.

"Cool," says Brian. He clears his throat, takes another glance at his notes and then begins his patter, introducing himself, the website he works for, and finally Simon. He gestures at the giant _Mission: Impossible_ poster on the wall behind Simon as he mentions the upcoming movie. They greet each other again as though they haven't already, then Brian goes into his questions.

He's not the worst interviewer Simon's spoken to today. He's actually quite natural, seems confident, pays attention and comes up with good follow-up questions. Simon's opinion of the man improves by the second.

"Aside from Tom Cruise and Ving Rhames, you're the only actor to appear in more than one _Mission: Impossible_ film," Brian says. "Everyone else either gets killed or just doesn't come back."

"True," Simon nods.

Brian gets a cheeky grin on his face. "Who'd you have to sleep with?"

"Everybody," Simon instantly replies. "Absolutely everybody. No, J.J. Abrams and myself had such a good time on the third one, and I only did two days. So, he always said that if there was another one, Benji would come back as a field agent."

"Benji even gets to shoot someone this time around."

"Yeah, in the last four years he's obviously trained very hard. It's important that you know that Benji is good at what he does and there's a reason for him being there. He's not just the comic relief."

"Yeah, he's like the ultimate I.T. guy. How are your skills in real life? Are you a computer genius?"

Simon has to laugh. "No. I have lots of gadgets, and I've actually been accused of having an addiction to them, but the minute anything goes wrong, I have to call someone. I couldn't hack into anything. I can't even hack into my own accounts."

Brian laughs at that, then asks, "Do you think there'll be another _Mission: Impossible_?"

"I'd love it if there was. We had so much fun making this movie. The sad thing is, because there's never been a director that's done more than one at a time, if we did it again I'd miss Brad Bird. He's such a cool guy. Me and him really hit it off 'cause we're both nerds."

"Is he one of the people you had to sleep with?"

"No, I didn't have to, I did him just for fun."

Simon finds it easy to relax and be himself, at least as much himself as he will allow in an interview. He lets himself be lulled and for a while he actually enjoys what feels more like a conversation than an interview.

But that doesn't last long.

"Getting back to the film," says Brian, "it's being touted as sort of a comeback for Tom Cruise. Do you think it will help restore his image?"

"I'm not sure he needs a 'comeback'. He's still the same dedicated guy he's always been and I honestly don't think that whatever goes on in his personal life has that big of an impact on whether or not people see his movies."

"But the third _Mission: Impossible_ didn't do nearly as well at the box office as its predecessors. Why do you think that was?"

Simon knows what he's asking, but plays it cool and slightly dumb: "It's hard to say. I think at some point people just sort of get saturated with a franchise and move onto newer things. Having said that, I would hope that by now people are ready for another _Mission: Impossible_. I think with this one, we've really nailed the formula. There are several places where the action is punctured with a little comedy, little bits in between the fighting and hanging off of things where the audience has the chance to breathe and relax and genuinely laugh. I think that's helpful for these types of movies and I think the audience will find it quite refreshing. The team dynamic, as well, is really great. Paula, Jeremy, Tom and myself had a fantastic time together. There were days when we did as much laughing as acting, to the great annoyance of poor Brad, I'm afraid."

"You mentioned before that J.J. had promised Benji a bigger role in future installments, but do you think perhaps your involvement could possibly also be about helping out at the box office?"

"None of us – me, Paula, Jeremy – none of us was brought on because we suck, you know? Not to toot my own horn, but we were all brought on because someone thought we'd add something positive to the franchise. But the fact is anybody who believes I'm a bigger box office draw than Tom is kidding themselves, let's be honest."

"You've got a lot of pull in Hollywood right now, though."

"I'm in a good position, yeah, I can admit that. It's nice to be able choose projects and generate my own work when I want to. But Tom's a powerhouse. He's a veteran, a pro. I think I'm a pretty dedicated guy, but I feel like a slacker when I watch him work. There's no one like him."

"You speak extremely highly of him."

"Yeah, he's a great guy and a hard worker. I'm quite privileged to call him a friend."

"You've mentioned in other interviews how close the two of you have become, and in fact it's been reported that you were staying at his home here in L.A."

Simon shifts in his seat.

"What's it like at the Cruise household?"

"It's like any other sleepover, we do each other's hair and make prank calls," Simon replies. The wit comes as easily as before, but it's not the same. Jokes aside, he's no longer joking with Brian. This isn't a simple conversation anymore, it's a tug of war; Brian tugs a little with his questions, Simon tugs right back with his answers, not allowing Brian the upper hand.

Brian laughs faintly, but isn't about to be derailed. "Has Tom talked to you about his religion?"

"No," Simon says tersely.

"Not at all?"

"No, not really. I'm not a religious person and he knows that. I'm not interested in what people believe, I'm interested in how they treat others, and you're not gonna meet a kinder, more generous man than Tom."

"What about Jeremy Renner? He was, at one point, supposed to do a project with director Paul Thomas Anderson, who's next film is about a fictional movement, a religion if you will, that is supposedly based on –"

"Yes, I know."

"It just seems like a bit of a coincidence."

"What are you asking me?" Simon quietly demands. "Are you asking about Jeremy's faith? Because I can't speak to that. You'll have to ask him."

"I'm asking about Tom's influence on his friends and costars. He's the world's most well-known and outspoken Scientologist. It's difficult to believe that, in all the months you and he have been 'close', as you say, the subject has never, not once, come up."

"Well, it hasn't. His beliefs are his business."

"You seem very protective of him."

"Somebody has to be." Simon's not even trying to hide his glare anymore. His heart is thumping. His jaw muscles are twitching. He's buzzing inside like a live wire. Brian has no idea what he's awakened, and even Simon isn't sure. He feels ready to pounce. He's a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if Brian isn't careful of what he says next.

"It's been reported that you're no longer staying with him, that a huge argument precipitated your moving out –"

"I'm not here to talk about my private life. I'm here to promote my work."

"This concerns your work; Tom is your costar. Surely you're interested in putting certain rumors to rest."

"Such as?"

"That you and Tom are lovers. That he bought you an engagement ring." At that, Brian's eyes dart down to Simon's left hand, checking his ring finger.

Simon is slightly taken aback, but doesn't let it show. The fact is he didn't expect Brian to come right out and say it like that, but he's certainly glad he did. Simon shifts in his seat again, this time making himself more comfortable for what he's about to unleash. "What I'd like to put to rest, Brian," he begins, "is this culture of entitlement that thrives in Hollywood and has spread like a cancer throughout our society. Why do you and others like you believe that a man's private life is automatically your business? What, just because he's famous? He's asked for his privacy to be violated simply because of the profession he's chosen? It's like basic human rights go out the window as soon as anyone achieves even a modicum of fame. It's pathetic. Apparently it's perfectly okay to go through a man's trash or peek in through his windows as long as the one doing the snooping – no, as long as the one _breaking the fucking law_ claims to be a journalist. How sick is that? It's all fine and dandy to harass those in the public eye, to get angry and even violent when they refuse attention, because their lives aren't their own, are they? No, those of you who pay to see them and buy their products think you're buying a piece of stock or something. You think you're part owner of a thing that should now perform for you whenever you want."

"I wasn't suggesting –"

"That's exactly what you're saying, whether you meant to or not. Guess what, Brian: the man is still a fucking human being. He's a person, he's got feelings and he deserves as much privacy as anyone else. How would you like it if somebody sitting across from you, a total stranger, started taking pictures of you without so much as asking permission first?"

Brian's face blanches. "What?"

"News flash, _Bry_ : it's always better to ask first."

"I thought you said –"

"Yeah, I'm protective of him. Because he and I _are_ close. Because nobody else, apart from the people who matter in his life, is going to protect his privacy, because there are more of _you_ lot than there are of us. I'm protective of him because I give a shit about him, I care about him, because he's…" Simon trails off. Something's welling up inside him, emotion that he'd rather not show, certainly not to Brian, who's hardly earned the right to see it.

But isn't that why he's been without Tom the past few days? Because he's been so afraid of someone finding out about them that he literally fled Tom's home? Isn't that why he's felt like he's been operating at half-capacity?

Simon knows why he's here. It isn't to promote his work. This is a test. The universe is testing him. Someone else would say that it's God trying to see if he's learned anything. Simon supposes that sometimes the religious and the non-religious, despite their differing terminology, are actually talking about the same thing. Sometimes.

He relaxes a bit, though his expression remains cold. "I'm protective of him because I love him," he says to Brian, sounding calmer than he did a moment ago, but no less serious. "He's become very important to me. Yes, I was staying with him. Because he offered, because he's a generous man. And he loves me too. You can take that however you'd like, infer whatever you'd like. What matters is that I protect the people I care for, and that I don't allow the media or the public to dictate how I live my life or who I live it with." Simon smiles to himself, looks away from Brian and shakes his head. "I've been a fucking idiot."

"How so?" asks Brian, apparently undeterred. He actually leans in a bit.

"I wasn't talking to you," Simon snaps, glaring at him again. He then glances at the camera pointed at him, knows it's captured everything that's just gone down, knows that in a few hours the whole of the internet will have access to his rant and his second declaration of love for Tom. He thinks about that, lets it sink in. And he relaxes. He's okay with it.

"I think we're done here," he says. He makes to stand up, but stops halfway out of his seat, suddenly remembering his actual job. The universe may have been testing him, but he still has real work to do. He looks awkwardly at the camera trained on him. "Erm… right. _Ghost Protocol_. In theaters this December. So, um… go see that. It's good, it's good, you'll like it, I promise. Okay, I'm just gonna…" He gestures at the door, then gives the camera an awkward wave. He straightens up and heads out, leaving without so much as a glance Brian's way.

End of Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * [Mani/Pedi-gate](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2099319/Simon-Pegg-keeps-real-treats-manicure-pedicure-session.html)
>   * [Galvanic Facial](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11v2jbqzVcE&feature=g-u-u)
>   * Simon's interview at the end is based on [Jeremy Renner's awkward interview](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VokdOqiKZ5w)
> 



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. The end. It's over. :( I might write more fics in this series, but this particular WIP is finally finished.

Simon is quiet on the subject of his interviews. When Kate asks him how they went, he says it was the usual questions over and over, just like always. Which isn't entirely a lie.

He doesn't want to talk about it just yet. Every time he thinks about Brian's calm, cocky face, he wants to punch something. Kate'll hear about it elsewhere soon enough, anyway. They're on their way to Urasawa to meet Tom for supper, which is nerve racking enough without dwelling on unpleasant things. Simon isn't sure what to expect when he sees Tom again. The longer they don't communicate, the more Simon thinks Tom must be very upset with him.

Kate looks lovely in a simple gray sheath dress with a wide, red belt. Simon is in the standard men's dinner uniform: a simple suit, in silver-gray, with a white button-down shirt, no tie. When he approaches the restaurant, he sees a familiar lanky shape fidgeting out front and pestering the valet.

"Apparently Tom's assistant will be joining us," Simon says.

Kate cranes her neck to see. Thorne has put on a jacket tonight as well, seems to still be wearing a sweater vest underneath, and beneath that his shirt is a muted maroon. As soon as Simon and Kate exit Simon's car, Thorne is upon them.

"Perfect, perfect, perfect," he says to himself like he's checking off items on a mental checklist. He probably is. He snatches the car keys from Simon and passes them off to the valet. Simon thinks he actually hears Thorne make a little check mark noise through his teeth.

"So good to see you again, Mr. Pegg," Thorne says. "This must be your lovely sister."

"Yeah, this is Kate," Simon says. "Kate, this is Thorne, Tom's assistant."

"Hello," Kate says with a smile, giving Thorne her hand.

"Mr. Pegg failed to mention how beautiful you were," Thorne says, shaking her hand.

"I'm not surprised," Kate says dryly, shooting Simon a mock-exasperated glance. Simon sticks his tongue out at her.

"That dress is lovely. Do a quick spin, show it off."

With her fingertips in Thorne's grasp, Kate does a little twirl. Thorne actually gasps.

"Perfect," he declares. "You're perfect." He turns to Simon. "She's perfect."

"Try telling that to our mother," Kate says. "No, seriously, can you? She doesn't listen to me when I say it." Thorne laughs at that, and Kate turns to Simon too. "You never said he was so sweet and adorable."

"I'm not surprised," Thorne says to her under his breath.

"Er, Thorne?" Simon says. "I hate to interrupt the love fest, but what're you doing here?"

"Oh! Mr. Cruise had some business to take care of. It was just easier for me to come with. He's waiting inside for you, come, _come_!"

Thorne leads them inside and even shoos the hostess away impatiently when she tries to escort them to the private room that's been prepared for them. It's a beautiful space, with soft sage-green walls and a dark hardwood floor. The round table is fully set for four with a pure white table cloth and a white, floral centerpiece. Delicate little clear glass candle holders are scattered around the centerpiece, each housing its own short, stubby white candle. Above the table is a large, crystal chandelier. Mirrors hang in a line all around the room. They reflect the light back into the space, doubling the ambient glow. And spanning about ten feet of the wall directly opposite the door is a section of floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the darkening city.

And there's Tom at the table, facing the door, framed by the backdrop of the twinkling cityscape. He is leaned back in his chair, tapping fingers on the table. He seems to be staring at his water glass until he slowly looks up at the new arrivals.

His eyes land on Simon first and he smiles. Simon feels actual relief, seeing Tom smile at him again; relief mixed with a tingly excitement in his belly. He realizes that he's missed that tingly feeling. He feels some degree of it almost every time he sees Tom. It floods through him now, like endorphins erasing pain.

Thorne is quick to introduce his new best-friend-forever Kate. Tom gets up and comes around the table to say hello and give Kate the handshake-equivalent of a hug, sandwiching her hand between both of his. She maintains her cool, though Simon can see her blushing. His eyes go back to Tom as the pair makes pleasant, introductory small talk. Tom is dressed in dark charcoal, with a midnight blue sweater beneath his jacket, a pinstriped button-down beneath that.

Then Tom says something quietly to Thorne and gestures for him to escort Kate to her seat. Tom slips by them both and comes to Simon.

"Hi," he says. He's got that soft look in his eyes, like he could either be really happy or about to cry.

"Hi," Simon replies. Tom goes to shake his hand while Simon moves in for a hug. They switch. And then switch again. They laugh awkwardly.

"Seriously, this is what we've been reduced to?" Tom asks.

Beneath Simon's smile is a little ache of sadness. This _is_ what they've been reduced to and it's his own fault. He moves in without warning and hugs Tom tight. Tighter still when Tom's arms wrap around him. Simon shuts his eyes and just hangs on.

"What's wrong?" Tom asks. Simon pulls back to look at him, but remains in his arms. Tom's smile is gone, his brow is now furrowed with concern.

"I've just missed you, is all," Simon says.

"I've missed you too, Gorgeous," Tom whispers.

Simon's heart skips at the sound of his pet name. "You didn't call."

"Neither did you," Tom points out. "I was giving you your space. I probably would've called tomorrow at some point if not for dinner tonight. Figured waiting three days is enough to not seem desperate." He smiles faintly at that, but Simon shakes his head.

"You could've called earlier. I wouldn't have –"

"Yes, you would have," Tom interrupts. "That wasn't me playing games. I _know_ you needed space."

Simon closes his mouth, conceding the point.

"Are you sure you missing me is all that's wrong?" Tom asks. "You don't seem yourself."

"I, uh, had an unpleasant encounter this afternoon."

"Paparazzi?"

"Not exactly."

Tom grins again and says jokingly, "David?"

Simon has to smile too. "No."

Simon glances over at Kate and Thorne. They're seated at the two seats that face the window and they're chatting quietly. They seem fine on their own, but Simon knows he and Tom are being rude. As if on cue, Kate glances back at them, but not to give Simon an annoyed look. She isn't annoyed at all. Thorne is being as good a companion to her as he was to Simon last night, and besides, seeing Simon standing there in Tom's arms makes Kate grin like a loon.

"She thinks we're cute," Simon says.

"I guess she knows about us now."

"Yeah. I told her yesterday over lunch. She's happy about it. She thinks I'm a prick for walking out on you."

"You didn't walk out me. You don't even live with me, not really."

"I walked out," Simon insists, looking him in the eye. Kate has gone back to her own conversation. "We both know it, don't try to spare my feelings."

"I don't want to argue tonight."

"Neither do I. Just let me own up to my mistakes."

"It wasn't…" Tom trails off, stops himself before he can argue further. He nods and says instead, "I'm glad that you told her. Was it hard?"

"No. She's great, always been supportive. And it's you, so of course she thinks it's the most fantastic thing that's ever happened."

"That's wonderful," Tom says softly. "That you have family as supportive as that. She sounds like an amazing person."

"Not amazing. Not because of that, anyway. She's just got common sense, is all."

Tom nods. "Good point. You look incredibly handsome tonight, you know."

More tingling in Simon's belly. He smiles sheepishly. "Thank you."

"I like this color on you." Tom lightly fingers Simon's lapel. "Looks nice with your eyes," he whispers, leaning in to kiss Simon's cheek, "and your reddish-blond hair," he adds, kissing the other cheek. He then zeros in on Simon's mouth and gently kisses him there.

Simon relaxes in his arms, takes in the warm scent of his cologne. There's a hint of vanilla there behind the woodier scents. Simon wants to kiss him more deeply, but refrains. They back out of the kiss at the same time, both realizing it was time to join the others a while ago.

Dinner goes well. It's far less awkward than Simon had anticipated. As Tom gets to know Kate, she demonstrates a frightening amount of knowledge about him, but Tom is accustomed to that. They trade embarrassing stories about Simon. Thorne is charming and sweet. Whenever Kate's attention turns to him, Tom takes the opportunity to look to his left at Simon with that softly adoring look of his. He reaches for Simon's hand more than once and Simon lets him hang onto it as long as he wants.

The jackets come off, sleeves are rolled up, chairs shift closer to one another. Both Tom and Kate become even more warm and relaxed after each has a glass of wine. Simon happily feeds Tom a couple of hand rolls and a bit of salmon with his chopsticks. Tom tries to reciprocate but is awful with chopsticks.

"Seriously?" Simon asks. " _This_ is the one thing you can't do?"

"Can't I just use a chopstick to, like… spear it?" Tom asks, demonstrating a stabbing motion with a single chopstick. "Seems so much more efficient."

"Just use your fingers. I'm pretty sure that's allowed."

Tom does so, feeding Simon a roll with his thumb and forefinger. He leans in and kisses Simon's cheek while Simon chews. Simon reaches up and touches Tom's shoulder, stopping him before he can pull away again. He swallows, and with his free hand he grabs for a napkin, pats his mouth clean and then whispers to Tom, "I belong with you."

He simply felt like saying it. That one, simple sentence is heavy with a lot of different meanings. It's a 'yes' or a 'we can talk about it' to many of the things Tom has been wondering. They still need to talk about so many things, but not with Kate and Thorne present, and Simon needed to say something now, needed to get it out.

Their eyes lock. Simon feels their connection, the one they have when they're alone in bed, the one they shared briefly in front of Chris. Tom takes his hand. Neither seems able to pull himself out of the gaze, and instead they get pulled closer for another soft kiss.

It is now that Simon understands the true purpose of Thorne's presence.

"Aren't you glad you don't have to be a third wheel all by yourself?" he asks Kate.

"Immensely," she agrees.

With slight embarrassment, Tom and Simon disengage and look apologetically at the others.

"Come on," says Thorne, getting up. "Let's go out front and watch the chef work his magic." He holds his elbow out to Kate, who rises and takes it. She gives Simon a knowing smile and a wink before heading out of the room with Thorne.

"Rather useful, isn't he?" Simon says when the door has closed behind the others.

"That's why I keep him around. Your sister's wonderful. Humor runs in the family, doesn't it?"

"Yup. Enjoy it now while it's still cute. You'll be sick of it soon enough."

"I doubt that very much."

Their server slips in to check on them. She replaces their empty water pitcher and departs, leaving them with their half-eaten meal.

"So, are you gonna tell me what was bothering you?" Tom asks. "You said something about an unpleasant encounter."

"Had a series of interviews this afternoon, more promotion. It started out fine, but then… Brian." Simon actually glowers.

"Brian?"

"Remember the guy who took pictures of us at lunch with Chris? It was him, he's a columnist for some website. He warmed me up with pleasant chatter, then came at me with these hard-hitting questions about you and our relationship and your faith. I fucking lost it. I went off on the guy. It wasn't pretty, although I suppose it could've been worse."

Tom is quiet, so Simon looks at him. Tom is watching him with what looks like quiet admiration. Simon has to chuckle.

"Don't look at me like that. I completely abandoned my professionalism. You shouldn't encourage me."

"I can't help it. You're sexy when you get all protective."

"Yeah, well, it did feel kinda good. Felt right. I forgot, you know. About that guy you showed me in those videos when I first got here a week ago. I forgot that guy was me. I let public scrutiny dictate my actions and, worse, how I treated you. I forgot what my job is."

"Your job?"

"Sticking up for you."

Tom smiles. "That's not your job. Remember when you said you were a big boy and could take care of yourself? Well, so am I."

"And what was your internal reaction when I said that?"

Tom thinks for a moment, then just nods.

"You gotta do what you gotta do," Simon says, voicing Tom's thought. "I'm the same as you. I'm at my best when I'm working for the ones I love. That's who I am. But I let other things get in the way of that this time and I'm sorry for that."

Tom shakes his head. "It's okay." He shifts his chair a little so he can face Simon more easily, and he sandwiches Simon's hand between both of his own.

"No, it was stupid," Simon says. "It was all just paranoia, anyway. It wasn't about you, Tom, it was about me losing my life and getting swallowed up by the insanity that tends to follow you. You know, a guy with a camera followed me and Kate around yesterday afternoon. I was certain it was because of you. Saw the story this morning; they didn't even mention you. It was all about my visit to the nail salon."

Tom frowns questioningly.

"Yeah, I got my nails done." Simon holds up his free hand, showing Tom his smooth, expertly buffed nails. "We ducked in there to get away from the guy, but he got his shots anyway. Twitter's having a field day with those pictures." He grins mischievously to himself. "I might have to do shit like that more often if it's gonna drive people so bat-shit crazy."

"So, you're over the fear, then?"

"Not quite, but at this point… I guess I just have a need that outweighs my fear."

Tom smiles. "That sounds familiar."

"A wise man said it to me once. Fact is, my life is changing. People are gonna notice me more, with or without you. There's little I can do about that apart from fading into obscurity, and let's hope that doesn't happen for a long while."

Tom pats Simon's hand. "I'm glad to hear it. Because… the thing is, Simon, you weren't entirely wrong."

"About what?"

Tom hesitates, winces and says, "David."

Simon stares at him and then grins. "Oh, this is another joke, right?"

Tom shakes his head. "Don't freak out. He's not plotting your death or anything, but he's not crazy about you or the fact that I'm with you. You being a man is only the half of it. You're just not the kind of person he sees me with."

Simon frowns and tenses. "Well, what's it to him?" he demands.

"There are certain rules. Being in a same-sex relationship falls outside of those rules."

Simon clenches his jaw.

"According to some," Tom adds. "Not according to me."

"Not anymore," Simon points out, still feeling tense.

"Not anymore," Tom agrees. "Simon, I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, especially when it comes to relationships. I've learned a lot, grown a lot, and I'm not about to make the same mistakes again. You said something before that really bothered me, you questioned why I'm with you, you implied I was just experimenting, that I don't know what I want. If I've let other people influence my choices in the past, it was because I wasn't sure then. It was because I was trying to be something I'm not. That's not the case anymore. Now, no one could even begin to convince me that you're a bad idea."

"Okay, I don't get it," Simon says, pulling his hand away. "How is it you can belong to a group of people, be _friends_ with a man, who oppose what you are, who've claimed to be able to fucking _cure_ what you are? How can you just turn a blind eye to that? What is it that you get out of it that you couldn't get elsewhere? What's missing in you that you need these people so badly?" He's angry and his voice has risen. He's got that heart-thumpy, blood-boily feeling he had with Brian earlier, but he doesn't want to argue. He takes a breath, sits back, tries to relax, says more calmly, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to yell or start a fight, but you must understand why this upsets me so much. It should upset you too."

Tom doesn't sound upset when he speaks. "It's like anything else, Simon, you take what works and you leave the rest. Some people believe certain things because it gives them hope, it helps them deal. I can't just turn my back on this, because there are things about it, not _every_ thing, but certain things that make sense to me, that have helped me. As for their belief that what I am isn't natural…" He shrugs. "There are countless types of people who don't fit the so-called norm, and many of them share their faith with those who would try to 'fix' them or worse. Their faith is as important to them as it is to anyone else. They make their peace with it because they have to. Because to give up on their faith, because of a few assholes, would be like giving in. It would be like telling our detractors that they've won, that they were right all along, that there is no god that would accept us as we are. How can you ask someone to do that, to resign themselves to a world in which the thing they believe created them must have created them wrong?"

"Fair point. But your detractors aren't under the impression that their god created you wrong. They think something happened to you, someone did something to you, they think you're broken. It's not 'Him'. It's you."

"You can't change what people think. They've got a right to their opinions, just like we do. You can't ever pay attention to white noise. You just have to live your life."

Simon sighs. "All right, so what happens when you come out? David can't be on board with that."

Tom sits back and drapes his arm across the back of Simon's chair. "No. No, he's definitely not."

"So, what's he gonna do?"

Tom frowns a bit at the question. "Nothing. What _can_ he do?"

"He's just gonna let it slide? Just keep on being your friend, no retaliation?"

Tom smiles. "Retaliation? What've you been reading?"

"Not gonna lie, I know what that organization is capable of."

"It'll be fine. There'll be no 'retaliation'. It'll be far less made-for-TV-movie than you're thinking, it'll probably be downright anticlimactic. Not everyone will be happy, but nobody will say anything."

"Because you're one of their cash cows."

"You are the most cynical person I've ever met in my life."

"It's part of my charm."

"Simon. It'll be fine. I promise."

Simon says nothing.

"How are you feeling about coming out? Still opposed to it?"

Simon thinks for a moment, then replies, "You know, after our lunch with Chris, I felt really trapped. I felt like the decision had been taken out of my hands. I felt like I'd be a coward for staying closeted and a coward for caving to pressure and coming out. But I know now that that's bullshit."

"Not entirely. Those are legitimate feelings. The decision can be really difficult."

"Yeah, but it _is_ my decision."

"Could you come out if I wanted to?"

"I could," Simon says cautiously. He looks at Tom, more serious now. "But I need to know something: why now? You've been closeted forever, what's different now?"

"Being in love, really in love, makes you want to tell the world about it."

"That's very romantic, but it can't just be me. You've been in love before, or at least thought you were. And I'm sure you've been fed up before too, but something's different about you now. Even Thorne sees it and he's basically a fetus that's known you less than a year."

Tom cocks his head and quietly says, "Because it's time, Simon." He says it like it's the answer to a question as simple as what color the sky is or which way is up. It's plain and simple truth and he looks like he'd expected Simon to know it already. "Because I'm not getting any younger," he adds. "Because I'm tired. Because I'm in love and I just want to be with you, because I think – no, I _know_ it's my right to show the world who I love. Because my priorities have changed. Because dammit, I've paid my dues. I've hidden and I've worked and I've counteracted rumors and I've answered awkward questions that I shouldn't have had to answer at all and I've been doing that for _years_. I've left my blood, sweat and tears on every film set I've worked on and if the world can't accept me for who I am by now, then fuck them. I'm done. The hiding isn't for me, not anymore. I'm finally at a point where I like who I am and who I'm with. The lies aren't for me or my career now, they're to spare everyone else, to spare their delicate ears and eyes and their children, and you're right, it's bullshit. And I'm done." He reaches for Simon's hand again, takes it and squeezes it. "Because I'm in love with you. Because this is the most real thing I've ever felt in my life, as real as that pull in my gut when I'm about to jump off a building. I _feel_ this and it's wonderful and I shouldn't have to hide it."

Simon stares at him, feeling a little dumbfounded and knowing he shouldn't be. Of course Tom feels all of that. It should have been obvious, but Tom usually glosses over his years of hiding in plain sight in the middle of Hollywood, he puts a nonchalant spin on what it must have been like for him all these years. This is the first time Simon's really heard it, the reality of it, the first time he's seen the weariness in Tom's eyes.

"What if I'm not ready?" Simon asks.

"Then I'll wait for you."

"That's not fair to you."

Tom shrugs. "Love waits."

Simon nods and glances down, not feeling very much better about keeping Tom closeted when he clearly doesn't want to be.

"What about you?" Tom asks. "Do you know what you want?"

Simon looks at him again. "Dunno. There's still something in me that wants to stubbornly hold onto my secrets, even if sharing them will help someone else; Kate says I can be contrary for the hell of it, and she's not wrong. But I know I want to be with you. I used to view this relationship as something that displaced something else, that nudged out a more natural part of me and tried to replace it. I think I've spent so much time in the wrong relationships that I'd grown accustomed to operating at half capacity. Or alone. Alone was always easier before, but not now. Turns out 'right' doesn't necessarily feel right at first, not when 'wrong' has been the norm. But once I finally got it, being without you was what felt off."

Tom smiles at him. "That's all I needed to hear."

"There are still issues we need to work out. What about all that stuff that came out the day I left?"

Tom nods, looking thoughtful. "You don't think you've seen the real me."

"I think I've seen glimpses. Like tonight, with the chopsticks. You're not perfect. You're normal and human and a fuck-up, like me and everybody else, and guess what? That's beautiful and I want to see that more. I don't want your 'people' constantly hovering around, working behind the scenes to make sure every aspect of our lives goes smoothly. I want to do spontaneous things with you, I want to make a mess in the kitchen and burn supper, I want to have cold takeaway for breakfast sometimes. And I want to be in on the planning of our life. I don't want engagement rings I didn't know were coming or surprise protein shakes made by people I barely know. It makes me feel like a passenger in my own relationship. I feel like you don't trust me to help you steer this ship."

"I didn't realize… I had no idea I was making you feel that way. I'm sorry."

"I should've said something sooner, before the fight."

"Maybe I should have been paying attention. Simon, listen to me: despite all of that, despite the constant appearance of perfection, you _have_ seen me. You've seen more of me than almost anyone else. You said it yourself, that something's different about me. I might still strive for perfection – I'm a perfectionist and a bit of a control freak, it's what I do – but I'm becoming more me, and I think that's at least in part because of you. That's what David doesn't get, or maybe doesn't even care about. He thinks you're a loose cannon with a potty mouth and ideas that are too liberal for comfort. He doesn't get that those qualities, the things that are really you, uncontrollable and, to him, a little frightening, are the things that make me more me. You make me comfortable in my skin. I get the impression you don't feel like you belong in my world. That's just it, Simon; you're exactly what's been missing."

Simon brings his free hand up to stroke Tom's hair. His hand comes to rest on the back of Tom's neck and Simon says quietly, but with conviction, "You make me want to stand up and fight. The war against the bigots and the arseholes. I thought I was, but it's different now, it's stronger now, it's like I was numb before. I can still do it while closeted and there's no shame in that, I realize that now, but fuck it, I'm sick of hiding too. Before you, it was just about me, and I didn't need to come out, but now… I'm glad I make you feel more like you. You make me want to be more than I am."

Tom looks so touched, Simon wonders if tears are on their way. Tom leans in to press their foreheads together and squeezes Simon's hand.

"That's what you do for me," Simon whispers. "I make you feel vertigo; you make me feel empowered. And maybe I'm ready to take the leap with you. If it's you and me against the world, I'm okay with that."

"You just love any excuse to tell people to fuck off," Tom says with a smile.

"You know me all too well."

"Don't let me rush you, okay?"

"A little pressure can be healthy. It makes one think, maybe reassess a bit."

"You have no idea how badly I wanna make love to you right now."

"Not sure this table will stand up to having two grown men on it."

"Who said anything about the table?" Tom is smiling softly when he pulls back to see Simon properly, but his smile fades as he asks, "What happens when the world doesn't care anymore? What happens when there's no one left to fight? What happens when the vertigo wears off?"

Simon shrugs. "Relationships change. People grow. We evolve. That's what happens."

Tom nods. They smile at each other and Simon massages the back of Tom's neck. Tom kisses him again, soft and slow.

"Where you sleeping tonight?" Tom whispers when the kiss ends.

"With you," Simon replies instantly.

"What about the leak? You're not worried anymore?"

"No, I am. But we're a team now. You shouldn't have to deal with it on your own."

Tom gives Simon's cheek a final kiss before shifting again to face the table. He reaches for a seaweed-wrapped roll with his fingers, but then changes course, remembering something. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls something out. He hands it Simon; it's Simon's leather bracelet.

"Thorne says you've been caught snurfling it when you think no one's looking," Simon says, taking it from him.

"Snurfling?"

"Hugging it with your face."

Tom laughs. "I think that's a slight exaggeration, but maybe sometimes, yes." He looks at Simon. "Put it on."

"Not sure it goes with the outfit."

"Who cares? It's you. It's exactly you; a little hard, a little soft, a little edgy. Smooth and supple…" Tom gets distracted and leans in again to nuzzle Simon's neck.

Tom's nuzzling tickles and Simon laughs as he fastens the bracelet around his left wrist. They kiss some more and then start feeding each other again. Tom is holding onto Simon's hand and licking Simon's fingers when the door opens and Kate pokes her head in.

"Oh, sorry!" she says. "Just letting you know we're still alive out here." She gives them a wave, then ducks out again. "No, they're still at it," she says to an out-of-view Thorne as the door closes.

The rest of the night is perfect. Kate and Thorne eventually return to the room and everyone indulges in dessert. When they finally leave the restaurant, Tom and Thorne leave in Tom's car, and Simon drops Kate off at her hotel after making plans to see a movie with her the following night. Then Simon drives back to his own hotel to pick up Minnie, grab his things and checkout.

When he arrives at Tom's, the house is dark but for the light in the front foyer, left on for him. Thorne is gone; he'll have driven home from Tom's place in his own car. Simon makes a quick stop at the kitchen to put down Minnie's water dish, then heads upstairs with his things. Minnie trots after him.

Music reaches Simon's ears as he nears the master bedroom, a soft, slow, dreamlike melody comprised of electric guitars and basses. The tune and vocals are familiar. Simon loves this song.

The bedroom doorway softly glows in the dark upstairs hall like a portal; candlelight coming from inside the room. Simon comes to stand in the doorway, and there's Tom, standing at the window with his back to the door. There are candles all over the room and Tom seems to be lighting the last of them on the sill. He turns away from the window and smiles. He's removed his jacket and sweater and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He looks every bit the modern-day Disney prince.

Minnie scampers over to Tom to say hello. He laughs and drops to a crouch to greet her. Simon drops his things by the door, leaves his suitcase standing upright, his jacket draped over its handle. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he wanders further into the room, and it is now that he notices what's on the bed; his tulip petals. They're barely visible in the dimness, cream petals on cream sheets. They're scattered across the entire bed and even a little on the floor around it.

"You've finally had your tulip revenge," Simon says.

"They had it coming." Tom looks up at him with those softly smiling eyes, rises and comes to Simon. They fall into each other's arms and just hold on.

"Gotta head back to London, day after tomorrow," Simon whispers. "Pick up the rest of my stuff."

"Right." Tom pulls back to look at him. His smile is gone. "I guess you found a place to rent."

"Yeah. Went out with the realtor a couple more times, but it was the last place I saw that I really loved."

"House or apartment?"

"House. It's a bit big, but I like it. Feels lived in, warm, inviting. It suits me."

"I'd love to see it."

"Turn on some bloody lights, you might be able to."

Tom grins. "Really?"

"I honestly can't picture being anywhere else."

"And after filming ends?"

"One thing at a time, Thomas. It's not a race. Then again… where are we headed if not toward cohabitation?"

"Don't go getting my hopes up."

"I'm just saying we can talk about it. We'll have to discuss it with the Munchkin too."

"She'll approve, I'm sure. And my other kids, they're excited to meet you."

The mention of them makes Simon's stomach lurch with nerves. "They get older and get all sorts of opinions and things, don't they? I won't be able to charm them with my Squidward impression or my impeccable imaginary-tea-party etiquette."

"You'll be fine. They've been very supportive so far. My son happens to think very highly of you and your work. Finding out about us blew his mind a little." Tom looks deep into Simon's eyes. "You ready for this? I can call them tomorrow and make plans for the four of us to get together sometime if you want me to."

Simon takes a breath, exhales slowly. Meeting Tom's older children is a scary thought, but not because Simon isn't ready. He nods. "It's time."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. I'm planning on telling my mum when I go home."

"Really?"

"Yeah, if Katy doesn't get to her first."

Tom gives him a beautiful smile. "I can't wait to meet your mother."

"She can't wait to meet you either, not since 1986."

Tom laughs at that, a light, easy, genuinely happy laugh, and when it subsides he gazes at Simon for a moment before finally going in for a kiss.

He tugs Simon, by the belt in Simon's pants, toward the bed and they go down together, still locked at the lips. Buttons and buckles and zippers are impatiently pulled open. Simon gets Tom's shirt unbuttoned, spreads it open and feels across his chest. Tom's hand goes down inside Simon's underwear, where Simon is already hard for him. Simon stops kissing so he can let out a sigh of pleasure when Tom begins stroking him. He rolls onto his back and spreads his legs a bit while Tom pushes up on an elbow and cuddles against Simon's side. He leans down and pushes his tongue deep inside Simon's mouth. Simon eagerly accepts it while his hand cups over top of the one inside his pants, encouraging its fondling.

Tom moves down from Simon's mouth to his chest, finds a nipple and flicks at it with his tongue. Simon whole body reacts; he arches his back, sucks air in through his clenched teeth and lets it out with a little moan.

"Tom," he whispers. Tom replies with a muffled moan; he's taken the nipple completely into his mouth now. "I have to tell you… that interview I did today, the unpleasant encounter with Brian the twat monkey…"

"Mm-hm…"

"I said that I love you."

Tom stops sucking and looks at him.

"In the interview, I said I love you. Again. I had to, it needed to be said. It was like that was my moment, it was supposed to happen right there, in front of Brian and two rolling cameras. This time it was conscious, though, I said it deliberately. And whether the world can see it for what it is, I don't care. I wasn't saying it for them." Simon strokes Tom's hair. "It's for us. Encoded or not."

Tom is quiet, staring, looking both touched and stunned at the same time. He still doesn't speak as he suddenly sits up and shrugs off his shirt, as he stands and drops his pants and underwear to the floor. He's nudging his clothes away with a toe as Simon gets up off the bed too. Tom comes to him, wraps his arms around Simon's neck and kisses him with a wide open mouth and a passion Simon feels shoot straight down to his groin. Simon's hands go to Tom's waist, then around to his strong back. When Tom ends the kiss and looks at Simon, there's something so vulnerable about him. Simon holds him tighter.

"Take me," Tom whispers. "Do as you please, just take me. Okay?"

That little 'okay' is what clinches it for Simon. It's not just his imagination that Tom seems vulnerable; he actually looks uncertain for the first time that Simon can remember. Simon's bailed on him once already after specifically saying that he wasn't going anywhere. Well, here they are again with Simon promising that he's ready. This must feel terribly familiar to Tom, but Simon knows it's different this time. He really is ready, but Tom doesn't know that. He needs to see it.

Tom is probably telling himself that he can trust Simon, because that's what he would do. But deep down he'll wonder, and he'll probably wonder for a long time. That's Simon's fault. He can own up to that. He's not about to try to appease Tom with words. Words can only do so much, and besides, proof isn't about words. Tom doesn't want words now, anyway. He wants something physical, he wants to feel it. Tom must know that there's only so much sex can do, too, but they'll need time to get things right. Right now, though, they have this; their bodies and their private world. They both know this isn't where Simon's certainty will be tested. But it's a start.

Simon nods. He looks into Tom's eyes with a steady, gentle gaze that hopefully conveys just how much he gets it, and he nods.

Tom helps him out of his clothes. He goes back and forth between kissing and looking at Simon's face, as though he isn't sure he can trust Simon not to disappear while his eyes are closed. Finally naked too, Simon stops kissing.

"Look at me," he says, pulling his face away. He holds Tom securely in his arms and examines his eyes. "It really hurt you when I moved out, didn't it?"

"I understand why you had to go."

"That's not what I asked. Tell me."

Tom exhales, lowers his eyes for a moment, then replies, "I didn't want you to go, Simon. You knew that." It's not an accusation. There's no malice in his words. He's genuinely not angry. He just doesn't understand why Simon's asking. Because it should be obvious that it hurt him.

"I'm so sorry, Tom," Simon whispers.

Tom shakes his head. "Don't." He cups Simon's face, his eyes pleading. "It's okay. Really. You had to go. Our privacy was being violated."

"Yeah, but you don't bail when shit gets hard."

"This isn't your life. You shouldn't have to –"

"This _is_ my life. It is now."

Tom relaxes, accepting Simon's point. He drops his hands from Simon's face to his shoulders. "Why'd you ask?"

"You looked so scared just now, it unnerved me. I've never seen you look like that before."

Tom's mouth opens, but he doesn't know what to say. He's supposed to be the world's biggest action star, the guy who looks at a mile-long drop and goes for it headfirst. He's not supposed to get scared, but he is now and he doesn't know what to say.

"Hey," Simon says, giving him a squeeze. "It's okay to show me. Remember? You're human, you're vulnerable. It's okay to show me that. You don't always have to be the strong one. You can lean on me. I swear it's okay." Simon hugs him, kisses his cheek and whispers, "I'm so sorry I left you."

Tom just shakes his head again to tell Simon, "no, it's okay". He backs out of Simon's arms, takes his hand instead and pulls him to the bed. He sits and shimmies back, tugging Simon with him.

They kiss and touch and just feel each other, like the night before Simon moved out. Then Simon lays Tom on his back. He hovers over Tom for a moment, admiring his pretty features, while Tom gazes up at him, eyes big and trusting. Simon goes in for a final kiss and Tom strains up to meet him halfway, then Simon pulls away to grab the lube from the drawer in the nightstand on Tom's side of the bed. He takes it and heads south on Tom's body, tracing a meandering line with his mouth, kissing warm skin, brushing his lips and nose across the patch of hair surrounding Tom's navel. Tom keeps at least one hand on Simon, touching a shoulder or stroking his hair and face, as Simon works his way down. It's like he can't bear to let go, even though Simon remains in constant contact. When Simon settles between Tom's legs, he sucks a wet line up the underside of Tom's cock, tilting his head and wrapping his lips around it to suck his way from base to tip. Tom lets out a little hum, a soft, breathy, sexy sound as his knees fall open and his back arches. His whole body then relaxes. He even lets his hand drop away from Simon's face.

Soon Tom's got his legs pulled back close to his body, giving Simon room to give his asshole several lengthy tongue kisses, as deep as Tom's body will allow. Simon's rather contented little noises join Tom's hums and sighs of pleasure. Simon loves doing this to him, relishes in the intimacy of it. He presses his face right in, sometimes not even licking, just savoring the feel and the warmth of Tom's body. He swaps his tongue for lube-covered fingers, strokes inside Tom with a "come here" motion that makes Tom curse under his breath. Tom is more beautiful than most on his worst day, and even more so when he's a horny mess. He raises his head to watch what Simon's doing to him. His eyes are dark and hooded, his mouth slightly open. Simon's three fingers-deep in him now. He holds Tom's gaze deliberately as he extends his tongue and laps at Tom's balls while making that "come here" finger motion inside him. Tom's eyes lose focus, roll up just a bit before his lids flutter down to cover them. He drops his head back onto the pillow again with a groan.

He's lovely just like this; horny and desperate and needy, naked and spread open. He's beautiful. Simon withdraws his fingers and buries his face in Tom again with a muffled grunt of appreciation. He needs to be as close as possible right now, taste him, smell him, needs to make him moan and beg and swear just to hear how good he sounds.

"Simon," Tom moans. His voice wavers with need and Simon just aches for him, feels his cock pulse as though it could possibly swell any more. Simon doesn't know how long he's down there, but it's time to come back up.

He wipes his mouth and goes up to lie next to Tom, who lowers his legs and stares up at him with sleepy eyes and a soft smile. He seems thoroughly relaxed and happy, and though Simon knows there's still damage to repair, trust issues to work out, he hopes that, at least for now, Tom feels safe with him.

He pets Tom's stomach and asks, "How do you want it, darling?" The pet name just slips out without Simon even realizing it was coming. When Tom's smile goes all dreamy and dopey, Simon knows he's pleased with it.

"Darling. I like that," Tom says.

"Yeah? I didn't even think about it, it just kind of happened."

"It's nice. Sounds good with your accent."

"Felt quite natural."

"Let's keep it."

"Okay. Darling," Simon agrees with a grin as he leans down to kiss Tom's lips.

"I want it any way you wanna give it to me," Tom whispers.

"Feel like getting on top?"

They sit up and Simon arranges a comfy pillow backrest for himself against the headboard while Tom picks the lube up off the bed and pops its top open. Tom sits on his knees at Simon's side, brings his slippery fingers around behind him and inserts them with a soft sigh. He spreads his knees wide apart and slowly finger fucks himself. Simon leans back against his pillows and admires him, the way his taut thighs tense as they hold him up, the beautiful sway of his lower back, how it gracefully curves and culminates in the most perfect, round backside Simon's ever seen.

Simon reaches out to touch, to squeeze the thick thigh closest to him, but it's not enough. He's compelled to lean over and place little kisses all over Tom's hip. He feels Tom's free hand touch his head and stroke his hair. He looks up and finds Tom looking down at him, quietly watching him and petting his head.

Simon is once again struck by this Tom, how different he is tonight. This isn't the infallible He-Man with the cocky smile and mischievous twinkle in the eyes. This is the side of Tom no one sees, the timid, almost delicate side.

"Sit up," Tom tells him. Simon sits up and leans back on his pillows. Tom withdraws his fingers, wipes them off on the sheets, then shimmies a little closer, gets more lube in his palm and begins stroking it onto Simon's cock, slowly, meticulously, making it part of their foreplay.

"You all right, love?" Simon murmurs, touching his arm.

Tom meets his eyes. "Yeah. What?"

"I was just thinking I should probably take my own advice. Even I forget that you're not superhuman. I keep telling everyone else that you're just a guy, but I can't remember that half the time myself. I can't expect you to let yourself be fragile if even I can't stop expecting you not to be."

The hand stroking Simon's cock slows. "I don't need to be babied," Tom says.

"I'm not talking about babying you, I just mean… I've been a bit of a self-absorbed prick, is all."

Tom smiles at that. He lets Simon go, wipes his hand again, puts the lube down and straddles Simon. A little spike of arousal shoots through Simon's body and makes his cock pulse with heat as Tom settles on his lap. His hands automatically take Tom by his hips.

"We're both guilty of that," Tom says, cupping his hands around and behind Simon's neck. "I was aggressive. I didn't listen. I backed you into corners."

Simon supposes that's true, but it's not the time to argue who was worse. He gazes up at Tom and asks, "Remember that song you recited to me on our second official date? At the restaurant in Vancouver."

Tom thinks for a moment, then smiles. "Yeah."

"Do it again."

"Now?"

"Yeah. What, you can have sexy Michael Caine, but I can't hear a few song lyrics?"

"Okay, fair enough." Tom's eyes dart toward the ceiling as he pulls the lyrics up in his mind. He softly recites: "'All my saints have taken bribes, singing "Going, going, gone"/All the angels taken dives…'" He looks into Simon's eyes as he says, "'Leaving you the only one/If I lose a sequin here and there/More salt than pepper in my hair/Can I rely on you/When all the songs are through/To be, for me, the everthere?'"

The impact of the words, months later, is even greater than before. It's as if their meaning has changed. The first time, Tom was the aggressive pursuer, Mr. Perfect using beautiful lyrics to disarm. Now he's vulnerable, flawed. Now it feels like those lyrics are a genuine question.

Simon caresses Tom's back and just nods his head 'yes'. There's a lump in his throat, and his expression must be a bit pained, because Tom's expression softens and he hushes Simon with a soft "shhhh" and a kiss and a caress of his cheek. Or maybe it's Simon's head nod that's making Tom look like that. Maybe he understands that Simon is answering the question.

Simon hugs him close and kisses him again, this time more deeply. As they kiss, Tom lifts up and reaches behind and beneath himself. His hand wraps around Simon's cock and he rubs the head against himself, back and forth over his hole before starting to push it in. He begins inching down on it. His breaths through his nose quicken, then slow, then stop as he breaks the kiss. Simon looks at him; his eyes are still closed and he's concentrating. His brow furrows. His breaths grow steady again.

The heat slowly sheathing Simon is maddening. His thigh muscles twitch. They want to push up and get him further inside that tightness and warmth. He stays still and waits, begins kissing and sucking at Tom's neck and collar bone to try and distract himself. It's probably the worst way he could have chosen; Tom's scent only intensifies his arousal. Tom's skin is hot and fragrant, the smell of his arousal now mixed with the faint vanilla sweetness of his cologne. Simon greedily buries his face against Tom's neck, inhales deeply and licks hungrily, making Tom moan and cling to him.

Simon's hands go down to cup Tom's ass. He cradles each cheek as though trying to help ease Tom gently down. Tom loves the touch and arches his back, pushing more firmly against Simon's hands. He slowly rocks his hips back and forth as he sinks down and takes Simon all the way inside. He sits there for a moment, clenching around Simon's girth and just feeling Simon inside himself. Simon waits with his mouth and nose pressed to Tom's warm neck. He feels himself pulsing intermittently inside Tom and wonders if Tom feels it too. Tom hugs him tight and moves his hips ever so slightly, getting used to the way Simon feels inside him. Then he lifts up again and begins to ride.

Simon leans back to watch him. "That feel all right?" he asks, even though he can clearly see that it does; Tom's expression is relaxed, his noises soft and breathy. Tom nods. He's building up speed now. Simon gently pushes his hips up to meet Tom halfway. Tom groans, but not from discomfort. He nods at Simon; _do it again_. When he comes back down, Simon pushes up again, a little more forcefully this time. Tom groans harder.

Tom leans back and grips Simon's lower thighs, just above the knees, so Simon bends his knees up a bit, bracing them for the extra weight. Tom pushes down on Simon's thighs and rides faster, panting, eyes closed, intensity on his face.

"Fuck me," he suddenly says between hard breaths, opening his eyes to fix Simon with a sleepy, lusty gaze. "God, just fuck me."

Simon pushes up roughly and gets a little grunt from Tom. He does it again and again until he's fucking Tom hard and fast and making Tom moan. He grips Tom's waist to hold him still. Tom allows this, loves it; he stops riding, drops his head back and lets Simon have him. He moans and pants at the ceiling, his noises becoming more urgent as the _slap, slap, slap_ of their skin fills the room. Tom's cock is bouncing now and Simon can't help but stare. His hand goes to it automatically. It's big and hard and hot in his hand. Tom looks down to watch Simon touching him, then lays a hand on Simon's fondling hand as though silently telling him, _"Yes, do that."_ Simon takes a moment to lick his palm, then goes back to playing with Tom. He strokes firmly up and down, and Tom lets his gratitude be known; his hips start rocking as he simultaneously rides Simon and fucks into Simon's hand. Tom's body is beautiful in motion. Watching him only intensifies the pressure building in Simon's groin.

"I love you," Simon blurts out, panting. It feels good, like breathing again after holding his breath too long. "I love you so much."

Tom looks at him and leans in close again, close enough that it's like their sharing breath. He cups Simon's face and replies in a whisper, "I love you too." He licks across Simon's lips, dips his tongue inside Simon's mouth. They kiss again, wide open and sloppy and desperate, like inexperienced teenagers.

Then Tom stops riding, stops kissing, whispers to Simon to stop too. Simon's entire body halts and sags back against his pillows. Tom nudges Simon's hand off his dick and takes over himself, stroking fast, trying to bring himself closer to climax quickly. He kisses Simon again as he does this, deep and hard, the kiss arousing him further until he's moaning into Simon's mouth and his body is quivering from how quickly his fist is pumping. He might not be riding anymore, but his body still moves and undulates like a graceful wave, hips and back muscles slowly rolling.

Simon's cock twitches impatiently inside Tom and he starts fucking Tom again, but slowly, in time with Tom's rocking hips. He simply has to move again, what with Tom writhing on top of him this way. He can't hold back. The slowness is maddening, but so hot, and all of Simon's muscles ache with the need to go faster. He's about ready to flip Tom over onto his back and fuck him missionary style when Tom stops kissing, stops stroking himself, and looks at Simon again. He nods. He's ready to go again.

"Get on your back," Simon demands, his voice low. Tom nods again, with more enthusiasm this time, like he was thinking the very same thing. He slowly pulls up and lets Simon fall out of him. He dismounts and shifts to lie next to Simon, who moves at the same time, gets on top and is nudging back inside almost before Tom can pull his legs all the way back.

"Fuck," Tom curses as Simon slides all the way in. As soon as he's sheathed again, Simon knows it won't be long for him. Everything about Tom in that moment makes Simon's dick pulse with heat; his noises, his panting, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the way his body clenches around Simon, the way he claws at Simon's back. Watching him in the throes of passion is intoxicating, but Simon seems to have enough blood left in his brain to remember that Tom brought himself close to climax for a reason, so they could come together.

Not wanting Tom to lose that, he licks his hand again and reaches in between them. He strokes Tom and fucks him hard. Tom's eyes open to lock with his. Then Tom's hand cups the back of Simon's head and pulls Simon's face down for another kiss. He lets Simon's tongue in deep, like he's letting Simon fuck him that way too, and they stay that way until the hot pressure building and boiling behind Simon's groin, in his cock, tightening his balls, reaches its limit and finally spills over. He presses his face against Tom's neck again while Tom begins coming undone beneath him. Tom's shaft pulses in his hand and coats his fingers with hot liquid. Simon's hips pump hard for the duration of Tom's climax, even a few seconds after his own subsides when his body just wants to dissolve into a motionless puddle. He forces wonderful noises out of Tom, makes him cry out until there's nothing left inside either of them.

Simon wilts on top of Tom, lies there in his arms knowing Tom can take his weight. Tom holds on as long as Simon wants to stay there. They nuzzle and kiss until Simon's caught his breath and feels up to moving. He withdraws and rolls onto his back at Tom's side. They stay in contact, their fingers finding each other and entwining.

"So, I'm thinking," Tom says, "now that you've professed your love to the world, maybe people will stop thinking I'm sleeping with John Travolta."

Simon laughs weakly. "I don't have to worry about him, do I?"

"He isn't my Chris Pine, if that's what you're asking."

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope. It's okay, you can have your little crush. I know I've got nothing to worry about."

"Tom?"

"Yeah?"

Simon looks over at him and says as seriously as he can, "You complete me."

Tom bursts out laughing at that, a full on, face-scrunching laugh. Simon smiles as he watches him. Simon was only joking, of course, just quoting one of Tom's famous lines for a laugh, but the line resonates with some part small of him.

Tom comes closer to snuggle. His head goes to Simon's shoulder and Simon's arms instantly wrap around him. They lie there in the candlelight glow, listening to each other breathe, letting the sweat dry. Simon notices the soft music in the background. He'd forgotten music was playing at all, he'd been so engrossed in Tom. He also finally remembers to wonder where Minnie is. She doesn't seem to be in the room. She must have slipped out. Simon wonders if her departure was out of respect or disgust.

He thinks about the line he'd just quoted. He'd always thought it was rather silly. He doesn't believe a person can complete another, and even thinks buying into that fairy tale is downright dangerous. But here he is, finally feeling whole because of the man in his arms. Maybe it's more complicated than simply feeling complete because of another person. Maybe the right relationship can be a kind of catalyst, a nudge in the right direction. Simon can get behind that, the idea that the people he loves are there, in part, to help him find his way to better. That makes sense. And in that way, Tom does complete him.

* * *

Light presses on Simon's eyelids. Something warm and firm is at his back and something soft is brushing his shoulder.

He's laughing. He's barely conscious yet, giggling in his half-sleep state. Images swim behind his eyes. He's outside and it's a beautiful day. He's in the middle of a field somewhere. Tom is with him. So is Nick. Simon can't stop laughing and he isn't sure why. It's the most wonderful feeling. It follows him into consciousness, as does his laughter. He can hear his own soft giggles as if the sound is rising up out of his mind and entering the real world. He opens his eyes.

Daylight. It's coming in through the open blinds. Tom is there, wrapped around Simon from behind, pressing kisses to his shoulder.

"Good morning," Simon says.

"Morning, Gorgeous. That's beautiful, hearing you waking up laughing like that. What's so funny?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea. Something about Wellington boots. I think. It was you, me and Nick tromping about in a field in these giant Wellies."

"I was there with you?"

"Yeah. It was just pure, honest joy. I can't explain it, but it was lovely."

"I'm glad you had sweet dreams."

"Thank you. Did you?"

"I most definitely did. They were filled with you."

"What were you doing when I woke up?"

"Counting the freckles on your shoulder with my mouth."

Simon turns over onto his back and smiles sleepily at Tom. Tom's got sunlight in his hazel eyes, his hair is tousled. There's just a hint of gray showing at his temples where his roots have grown in a bit. His crow's feet deepen as he returns Simon's smile. He's impossibly beautiful.

He kisses Simon's mouth, holds it for a moment, then cuddles into Simon's arms. "Remember our first date?" he asks.

"Yeah. It was freezing cold and there were eighteen thousand other people with us. Very romantic. Wish I'd known that was a date. I would've fixed myself up a bit."

" _I_ didn't even know it was a date. Until it was. And I wouldn't have wanted you looking any other way that night."

"Never thought we'd end up together, even after that night. _Especially_ after that night; I thought you were mad for wanting this."

"Maybe I am."

"Then maybe I'm a little mad too."

Tom kisses his chest, then relaxes again.

"Tom? Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Did you… you wanted me to find that ring, didn't you?"

Tom is quiet for a moment, then replies, "Maybe. I can't say for sure that I didn't. Simon, I don't need to get married tomorrow –"

"I know."

"I can take the ring back."

"No, no, just… we can talk about it sometime, if you want."

"I'd like that."

"It's not like I don't think about it too. It's just a bit soon, is all. What made you think I'd even want a ring?"

"I wasn't about to propose with nothing to give you. But I see my mistake now. I should've bought you a leather bracelet or a diamond-encrusted ball cap or something."

"Now you're talkin'."

"I even started planning our honeymoon."

"Thomas," Simon says warningly.

"Only in my head, nothing on paper. I wanna take you rock climbing."

Simon laughs. "Whatever makes you think that won't end in a hospital visit?"

"You're stronger than you think, Gorgeous."

"Rock climbing. Really?"

"Or kayaking. Or both."

"Jock."

"Nerd. We could go snowboarding together instead. Of course, I'd just be tempted to keep you holed up in our room all day with a blazing fire, drinking hot cocoa and eating little marshmallows off your naked body."

"My god, you make me want ridiculous, romantic things just like that."

"Is that so terrible?"

"No. I'm not even annoyed about all these tulip petals stuck to my arse right now."

Simon's phone chirps and Simon tenses.

"Go on and get it," Tom says. He doesn't sound upset, and is in fact smiling when he pulls away and moves his head back to his pillow.

"I don't have to."

"No, you've earned it. You ignored it all night last night. I'm very impressed."

"I shut it off completely before dinner."

"Really? I didn't know you could even do that."

"Oh, I'm full of surprises."

Simon gives him a quick peck, then stretches his arm across to grab his phone from the nightstand. "I didn't say 'good morning' to Nick last night," he says as he begins typing a reply to Nick's current message.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right. We each have lives, we don't have to talk everyday. He says 'hi', by the way."

Simon keeps messing with his phone long after he finishes messaging Nick. He grins to himself as Tom cuddles closer to have a look at his screen.

"What're you doing?" Tom asks.

"Talking to Twitter. I mentioned that I've been staying with you," he says casually. "That's okay, right?"

"If it's okay with you, sure. What're they saying?"

"Some want to know if I'm really shagging you. Some are really upset about the possibility that I might be shagging you. Some are really quite tickled by the possibility that I might be shagging you. Some are completely oblivious to the rumors and want to know when I'm doing a third series of _Spaced_."

" _Are_ you doing a third series?"

"No, and if you ask me that again, I'm breaking up with you."

"What're you doing now?"

"Oh, just tweeting about your rippling muscles glistening in the California sun. Nothing too gay."

Tom laughs. "You're incorrigible."

"You know you love it. Look at you, all giggles over there. You love flirting with disaster. And I love being cryptic and telling people to sod off. We're the perfect couple."

"Does that really qualify as 'flirting with disaster'? Coming out, I mean."

Simon shrugs. "Maybe not disaster. But it's sort of exciting. Gives you a bit of a rush, that tingling in the belly, you know?" He stops typing and looks at Tom with a little grin. Tom grins back. That mischievous twinkle is back in his eyes. He feels it, the rush Simon spoke of. He doesn't even have to say anything; Simon can see that he's enjoying this. "We could draw this out, you know," Simon says. "Drop hints, be coy. More fun than just coming out all at once, don't you think? Besides, it'll give me time to adjust to the idea."

"As you wish," Tom replies with an indulgent smile. "And what're you doing now?" 

"Blocking the twats who've insulted you."

"You're having the time of your life, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious? Perhaps my dream was prophetic. All that laughter. Maybe it's gonna be a fucking brilliant day."

"Don't blow your wad in the first few minutes. Save up some of that vitriol for lunchtime."

"Oh, there's plenty where this is coming from. The way people seem to get off on making you the butt of some six-year-old joke is pathetic. I've been saying for a while that the way the media treats you has become kind of a thorn in my side, but maybe I can have a bit of fun with these holier-than-thou – oops, wait, gotta block another one. They're like roaches, they just don't die."

Those that Simon hasn't blocked are wished a wonderful day, then he sets his phone aside and snuggles with Tom.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Simon asks.

"You."

"Cannibal. Seriously, what do you want? I want to make you something?"

"Jessie'll make us breakfast, baby. She'll be in this morning."

Simon grins at the pet name. It doesn't feel so strange anymore. "No, I want to do it. What do you want? French toast? Bacon? I do a mean scrambled egg… if you like them a bit rubbery." He pauses. Something's gotten stuck in his brain, but it's unclear, like a road sign that he can't quite make out, a dream that's fading away the longer he's awake. But it's not about his dream. It only just occurred to him a moment ago.

"Whatever you wanna make is fine," Tom says. "Just don't burn the house down. I like this house."

"Yeah, like you haven't got five more just like it… I have the weirdest feeling right now. It's not deja vu, it's… it's like I'm remembering something, but I still can't remember what I'm remembering."

"What's it regarding?"

"Something I said a minute ago, something about… thorn in my side… thorn…" Simon pulls away and sits up. He grabs for his phone again and brings up his browser.

"Has he been pestering you?" Tom asks, pushing up onto his elbow. "Because I talked to him about that."

Simon finds what he's looking for, stares at it in silence. He then shuts off his screen and looks at Tom. "Uh… yeah, he's a bit anal, but he's just doing his job, right? Don't be too hard on him. He's… he's a good boy."

"Yeah, I suppose. He's at least part of the reason we're here right now. He kept communications open between us, he was our middleman."

"Yeah," Simon says distractedly. "He was the one who told me about dinner last night because we were being too stupid to talk to each other."

"What?"

"What?"

"He… he told _you_ about dinner?"

"Yeah, who else would've done? You weren't gonna call me."

"No, I mean…" Tom sits up now too, frowning. "He told me _you_ invited _me_ to dinner."

Simon gapes at him, his mind clearing a bit. "Are you fucking serious?"

"He set that up himself," Tom says as it dawns on him. "But hang on, what'd he think was gonna happen if neither of us made a move for the check?"

Simon gives him a knowing look. "He knew you'd insist on paying."

"How would he know that?"

"Because he's met you, Tom."

"Well… okay, point taken."

"He wanted us back together that badly?"

"That's kinda sweet, isn't it?"

Simon looks back down at his blank screen. "Yeah. Sweet."

"You okay? You look kinda pale."

"Yeah, just a bit tired." Simon looks at him again, wonders what to say next. He needs a reason to go downstairs. Finally he asks, "What'd we decide about breakfast?"

Tom decides French toast sounds good, so Simon gets up, covers himself in pajama pants and Tom's bathrobe and heads downstairs. Minnie is curled up in a random spot between the front foyer and the hall that leads to Tom's office, chewing on a rawhide bone Simon doesn't remember buying. Well, surprise dog chews are okay. Simon can handle that.

It's early and the only other person Simon can hear in the house is Thorne, who is buzzing around as usual. He comes from the hallway, steps over Minnie without even looking up from his iPad and goes right by Simon, who hears him mumbling to himself. He stops a few feet away, turns to look over his shoulder, clearly only just realizing Simon is there. Simon, who has also stopped walking, gives him a little wave.

"Good morning, Mr. Pegg!" Thorne says cheerfully. "Did you and Mr. Cruise have a pleasant evening?"

"Yup, it was nice."

"What brings you downstairs so early? Can I get you something?"

"No, I just wanted to chat with you for a bit."

The two of them head into the kitchen, where Simon sits at the island while Thorne moves around and makes pleasant small talk.

"You were a big help to me the other night," Simon says. "I can't thank you enough for that."

"Oh, no trouble. I'm glad everything's worked out."

"You know, I kind of wonder why you're so invested in Tom's relationship. I know you said you really care about him, and that's sweet, but is it more than that?"

Thorne shrugs as he pops a fresh filter into the coffee maker. "I have to be honest, it's a bit like a soap opera I enjoy watching. But really, I just want him to be happy."

Simon nods even though Thorne isn't looking at him. He's quiet for a moment, then reaches into a pocket in the bathrobe and pulls out his phone. His nerves are jangling inside him, but he doesn't let it show; his hand is steady as he taps at the screen, then sets the phone down on the island and pushes it over, closer to Thorne's side. And he waits.

The sound of the phone sliding across the island gets Thorne's attention. He stops and glances back, looks at the phone, then up at Simon's face. Simon says nothing, his face remains impassive. He waits. Thorne turns toward the island, comes closer, has a look at the screen. He's frowning as he reads what's on it. Simon can't read him. He has no real proof of anything, but he's got a hunch. Time to test it.

"Why'd you do it?" he quietly asks.

Thorne's face blanches, and that's all the proof Simon needs.

Thorne swallows. He keeps his eyes on the phone as he stammers, "I… how'd you know it was me?"

"Had a feeling. Besides the fact that you turned white as a sheet just now, that article mentions my shortbread. If what you say is true, that we're the only people who go into that cupboard, then it must've been you. Even if someone else does use that cupboard, they wouldn't necessarily know who those biscuits were for."

Thorne says nothing. He still won't raise his eyes to Simon's face, in fact he lowers them further, away from the phone altogether.

"Why'd you do it?" Simon repeats.

Thorne finally manages to meet Simon's eyes. The remorse on his face is almost heartbreaking. "We're all works in progress, Mr. Pegg," he replies.

Simon cants his head, his expression changing to sad disbelief. "Really? For _them_? The idiots who've been underestimating you and judging you? The fucking bullies, really, Thorne?"

"They think he's a joke. I don't, of course I don't, but they do and they know I work for him and the little jabs are just constant –"

"Thorne. Those people are not your friends."

"I know. I know that, but I thought –"

"You're never gonna get their approval. You'll always be that dorky little sod they make fun of to make themselves feel important. What you're doing, it won't work. It just makes you look like a fucking idiot. And a traitor at that."

Thorne lowers his eyes again. "I know."

"How did you even find out about the ring before I told you?"

Thorne begins tracing patterns on the island's surface with his index finger. "I overheard Mr. Cruise speaking with David about it."

"Of course." Simon looks away, crosses his arms, stares off at nothing, then glares at Thorne. "That's why you've been so invested. You need us together so you'll have more material to try to impress your little frenemies."

"It's not that," Thorne insists, pleads. "I swear it's not."

"Was it always you? Are you the source in every article?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fuck. I even suspected Len. _Len_ , my dog's favorite person, apart from me. She's better at sniffing out a snitch than I am, and you made me doubt her."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"I don't want an apology."

"Sir." Thorne seems to get his fire back and comes around the island to where Simon sits, with a sort of wild desperation in his eyes. "If there is _anything_ I can do to make it up to you –"

"You're joking, right?"

"But, sir –"

" _No_ , Thorne. I trusted you. I confided in you. You can't fix this now."

"I'm pulling for the two of you, you know I am. I want this relationship to work, and not because of them. Because I like you, I think you're good for him."

"Oh, you've got nothing but Tom's best interests at heart, do you?" Simon just shakes his head. "Tom couldn't see it because you're new. You've been with him less than a year. Everyone else has been here far longer. He hadn't figured you out yet and he probably never would have, because the scary thing is you're being honest with me right now. You actually do want him to be happy in some twisted way."

"I do, sir, I really do."

"I believe that, but you're trying to eat your cake too and it blew up in your face, didn't it?"

"I was going to stop, I swear. It just got out of hand, I got a little addicted, but I can stop, I swear to you, I can –"

"Doesn't matter. It's not as if I can ever trust you again. It's over. Accept it, there's nothing you can do. You're done here."

Thorne blinks at him. "Sir?"

"Well, you're not staying, of course. Did you really think I was just gonna go about my life with you still around after finding this out? Listen to me, young one." Simon stands. He's slightly shorter than Thorne, but he feels eight feet tall in that moment, puffed up with anger, protectiveness and possessiveness. He looks up into Thorne's frightened eyes, steps forth when Thorne stumbles backwards, and says in a low, menacing voice, "You say you care about him, about me, but you clearly care more about your fucking image than about that man up there. Well, he's my number one priority now. My job is to fucking protect him, so if you honestly think I'm about to stand idly by while you fuck with his life and use him like so many others, your head's further up your arse than I thought. If you so much as utter a word of his business to anyone again, even the dog, I will fucking _end_ you. Do you hear me?"

Thorne stares at him, wide-eyed, pale-faced. He straightens up a bit and says without conviction, "Y-yes, sir, but I-I don't think you can actually fire me."

Simon's eyebrows go up. "Excuse me? You're not staying, full stop."

"But –"

"No, I can't actually fire you," Simon admits. "But I can tell Tom exactly what's been happening and _he'll_ fire you."

Thorne gulps. "He can't know. I don't want him to know, I couldn't stand –"

"You should've thought about that before you did all this." Simon pauses, crosses his arms again and regards Thorne with contempt. He'd like nothing better than to march upstairs and rat Thorne out, but then he thinks about Tom, about how happy and warm and snuggly he is up there right now and how this news will change that. He sighs. "I don't _have_ to tell him. If you give him your two weeks' notice by the end of the day and leave quietly when the time comes, _without_ more of our secrets turning up in the tabloids in the meantime, I might not say anything."

Thorne visibly relaxes. "Really? You'd do that?"

Simon hates giving him something he wants, but he realizes that what Thorne wants more than anything is to be able to continue working here permanently. Taking that away from him in two weeks' time will have to suffice. "Not that I trust your word much anymore, but if you can promise to do as I've asked, then I promise I won't say anything. I'm not completely heartless. Besides, he's happy as a fucking clam right now. He's _happy_ , Thorne, despite all you've done. He doesn't need another thing on his plate, certainly not something as ridiculous as this. I don't want to be the one to ruin his day. Or his week. But believe me, I will drop your name faster than you can say 'back-stabbing prick' if one more thing turns up in the tabloids. Understood?"

Thorne nods. "I promise I won't say anything else. I am so sorry, sir –"

"Save it." At that Simon steps by Thorne, around the island to the other side to grab his phone, then heads for the kitchen's large archway. He stops there and glances back. "I liked you," he says. "I really, genuinely liked you. Do you even have a nan?"

Thorne squares his shoulders and holds his chin up as he replies, "I wouldn't lie about my nan, Mr. Pegg."

Simon just shakes his head. "Those people are not your friends. All right? And some of us do manage to grow up and leave high school. Eventually. Everyone in their own time… Let me know when Jessie gets in, okay?"

"She's here, sir. I believe she's in the dining room, going over her menu plan."

"Thanks." Simon turns to leave again, but stops once more, looks back and snaps, "And I do not have a carb phobia!"

He leaves the kitchen and heads toward the dining room, passing by the purely decorative living room on his way. He glances into it, stops and does a double take.

The cream tulips have been replaced by a set of black ones. Simon goes in to have a closer look. A little white card stands out amongst the dark petals. It reads:

> _"I thought these might be more you – Love, Tom"_

Simon pulls a single flower from the bunch. Its petals aren't solid black, but a deep dark purple that looks black from a distance. Simon smiles; this is Tom within Simon's framework. Classic and beautiful, but with a slight edge.

Simon realizes it was probably Thorne who picked up the flowers that morning and wrote the card for Tom. Tom must have made the call to Thorne before Simon woke up. Simon feels a little stab of guilt at what just happened in the kitchen. But no, Thorne has to leave.

He takes the flower with him when he continues on his way. He finds Jessie at the table in the dining room in jeans and a fuchsia button down. She's scribbling in a notepad. The pages are more blue ink than white paper by this point.

"What?" she asks without looking up.

"Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask if it would be all right if I made Tom breakfast this morning."

She stops scribbling and slowly looks up and to her left at Simon's face. She looks more unimpressed than one might expect after having essentially been given the morning off.

"I wanna do something nice for him," Simon explains timidly.

"You do realize you're just creating more work for me."

"Er, no, I'm doing the opposite of that. Weren't you listening?"

"You're gonna screw it up."

"You don't even know what I want to make."

"Doesn't matter."

Simon laughs. "Are you serious? You have absolutely no faith in me whatsoever?"

She cants her head at him.

His smile disappears and his shoulders slump. "I might need a _tiny_ bit of help," he quietly admits.

She sighs and goes back to her scribbling. "Meet me in the kitchen in twenty." She stops to look at him again. " _Don't_ be late."

"Sir, yes, sir."

He heads back up to the bedroom, wondering the whole way if he's doing the right thing by keeping Thorne's secret. Tom has a right to know what goes on in his house, after all.

When Simon gets back to the room, Tom is lying on his back, a thin sheet draped over his lower half, his chest exposed. He looks over at Simon with sleepy, beautifully smiling eyes, and then his mouth smiles too. Simon's sure no one's ever been this happy to have him come back after only being gone ten minutes. Simon smiles back as he shuts the door and shows Tom the tulip he brought up with him. Tom just gives him a little shrug as if to say, _"No problem, Gorgeous."_

Simon puts the tulip down on his nightstand, then sheds his clothes while admiring Tom (and while Tom admires him). Tom has an almost frightening ability to not look anywhere near his age, but sometimes little signs peek through. He looks a little older this morning. Not in a bad way, and still not anywhere near forty-nine, but there's something beautifully mature about his face today. There's happiness in his laugh lines, light playing on the hints of silver in his hair.

Simon's sure now that he's doing the right thing by not telling Tom about Thorne yet. To do or say anything to wipe that look off Tom's face, to change how he obviously feels right now, would be criminal. Simon will keep his word to Thorne, at least for now. Once Thorne is gone, Simon will have to tell Tom the truth, otherwise Tom will always wonder who it was in his camp that betrayed him. Simon will tell him then, but for now, Tom is happy. Simon goes to him and takes his place at his side, in his arms.

"Get the ring," Simon whispers against Tom's chest.

"What?"

"I want to see it again. Just to have a look."

Simon raises his head. They look at each other. Tom's expression is questioning, so Simon gives him a nod. Still looking uncertain, but with a bit of a smile, Tom pulls away, rolls toward the opposite edge of the bed and gets the ring out of his nightstand. He sits up as he scoots close to Simon again. Simon sits up too and watches Tom open the little velvet box.

There it is, Simon's ring. It looks even better in the morning light. It's tasteful, understated, classic with a little edge.

"It really is perfect," Simon says.

"I'm glad you like it."

Simon hesitates as he looks into Tom's eyes. "You know, I've been thinking about the whole marriage thing."

"When, since you left the room?"

"Yeah. Um, I don't have anything to give you, but… I was wondering if maybe you would consider, sometime in the future, perhaps, you know, if you wanted to you could think about one day maybe… marrying me?"

Tom grins. "What the hell happened downstairs?"

"Not soon," Simon clarifies. "It's still too soon to really get married, but an engagement can go on as long as we need it to, so I just thought I'd ask. I know you probably wanted to ask me yourself, and I'm sorry for stealing your thunder, but…" He pauses as he gazes into Tom's eyes. He reaches out and takes Tom's free hand. "I just _belong_ with you," he says. He feels those words in his gut, feels them the way Tom feels vertigo. There's a rush inside him, that excited tingle, the feeling of falling deeper in love. He meant the words when he whispered them last night at dinner. But now they mean something more. Now they're part of his proposal.

Tom stares back, searching Simon's face, something hopeful on his own. He looks like he wants to kiss Simon, but instead he moves away suddenly, gets up off the bed and comes around to Simon's side, discarding the ring box on his way. He stops before Simon with the ring between his fingertips and looks down at his naked body.

"I wasn't naked when I pictured this," he says.

"Better than me sat on the loo," Simon says. He swings his legs over the bed's edge to put his feet on the floor, keeps the sheets draped over his groin. He reaches out for Tom's hand. "It's fine. You're perfect. Everything's perfect."

With a nod, Tom takes Simon's hand and lowers himself to one knee. "I, uh, I had a whole speech planned," he says.

"Say it. I want to hear it."

Tom shakes his head. "No, it's too… overdone, too dramatic. It'd make you roll your eyes, and rightfully so. I over-thought it. You're right, Simon, sometimes I try too hard to get everything right, I forget who I am. You bring me back down to earth." He clears his throat. "Simon?"

Simon smiles, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach and the overwhelming urge to laugh. "Yes, Tom?"

"I too have been doing some thinking about marriage. A lot of thinking. And yes, I will consider, sometime in the future, perhaps, when you're ready, thinking about one day marrying you. I will consider it and consider it and consider it some more until the time is right for both of us. Yes, I absolutely will."

Simon's laughter comes out now, but it's certainly not at Tom and it's much softer than he'd anticipated. It's just like the gentle laughter that had followed him into consciousness as he'd woken. He's feeling it again, that pure, unfiltered joy from his dream.

He strokes Tom's hair with his free hand and nods at him. His laughter subsides as Tom places the ring on his finger. This time the ring doesn't make him short of breath or make his heart thump in his ears. There's just a pleasant little rush in his stomach, in his chest, as he falls forward to kiss Tom's mouth.

He pulls Tom back into bed with him and they cocoon themselves in the sheets and each other.

"Fifteen minutes 'til I have to go back downstairs to breakfast boot camp," Simon says.

"What?"

"Jessie insists on helping me. Doesn't trust me in her kitchen. Probably wise."

"I really have to wonder what happened down there that's made you change your mind so completely about the ring."

Simon thinks that Thorne's done it yet again, that he has, however unintentionally this time, brought Simon and Tom closer together. But he replies, "Dunno. But I'll tell you what I do know."

"What?"

"My dream was definitely prophetic."

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * The song playing in the background when Simon returns to Tom's place is [Buffalo Ghosts by Elbow](http://nullrefer.com/?https://www.box.com/s/ehb52xisys1i2hj1vtz8)
>   * I've remedied it now, but I forgot to mention this in the previous chapter's end notes last time I posted: The song playing in the coffee shop is [Forget Myself by Elbow](http://youtu.be/q2k5EfLPB3A). 
>   * The song Tom recites is [The Everthere, also by Elbow](http://nullrefer.com/?https://www.box.com/s/w92cxlv2tr7g69lvykr5). I really like Elbow these days. 
>   * I know I said in the notes of [Dot, Dot, Dot, Dot, Dot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/362449) that in this universe I wasn't going to deal with Tom's older kids. I feel weird enough bringing the youngest one into this. But I decided that before I knew where this 'verse was going. Now that I've gone a little deeper into it, I thought it would be nice if Tom had older kids that were going to meet Simon and be a part of their new life together. 
>   * Simon's Twitter updates about his Wellington boot dreams: [one](https://twitter.com/simonpegg/status/218365775117942784) and [two](https://twitter.com/simonpegg/status/218366425398644738)
>   * I made this fanmix a couple months ago. It's based on this 'verse. _Forget Myself_ and _The Everthere_ aren't on it; I added those songs to this 'verse's canon after I made the fanmix, unfortunately. Also, there are already fifteen songs on the fanmix. I had to stop somewhere (although, I gotta be honest, I really wanna add them, but it'll require altering the track list on the album art and reuploading the zip file, which I don't feel like doing right now, so maybe another day?). Anyway, here's the link: [Dreamwidth](http://maxwrite.dreamwidth.org/273881.html)|[Livejournal](http://madeyemax.livejournal.com/301675.html)
> 

> 
> And that's it. If you made it to the end, thanks so much for sticking with it. If I may be serious for a moment, I know coming out is a huge deal. I really hope I managed to treat the issue with the sensitivity it deserves. If anyone has anything to say regarding how I dealt with it here, please feel free to leave feedback. As long as it's polite, I'm definitely open to discussion, or admitting where I might've screwed something up.
> 
> Also, regarding Scientology, I tried to be fair about it. Simon voices my opinions in this fic; as an atheist, religion in general just doesn't do it for me, but I don't care what anyone else believes (it's when those beliefs begin to infringe on other's rights that I get angry). I hardly think Scientology is the weirdest thing, religion-wise, that I've ever heard of. I have, however, been doing some reading on the subject and learned a lot about the organization's history and some of the scary shit that's gone down within it. I never intended to go into detail about it in this fic, but I thought I should know exactly what I was glossing over. So, there are definitely aspects of this fic that have come from what I've read on the subject.
> 
> Truth be told, I wasn't going to deal with Scientology at all, but as the story progressed I realized that, if I was going to do a proper job here, it would have to be a plot point. Simon _is_ atheist in real life, and Scientology is part of Tom's life. It was definitely gonna come up at some point.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. Thanks again.

**Author's Note:**

> As with the first two fics, I've included links to articles and videos that I referenced.
> 
>  
> 
> **Simon/Tom Bromance-y Quotes & Stuff:**
> 
>   * ["Tom's really funny."](http://youtu.be/6zd8DMj0jH8)
>   * [Tom flying through the air with the greatest of ease.](http://youtu.be/M4pSzND0z50)
>   * ["Tom is just eternally impressive as a human being."](http://youtu.be/n3WC8jgPBkU)
>   * _"There are actors like Tom Cruise, who is this other-worldly fantasy-being in real life and on screen. That's why he's the biggest movie star in the world. He's gorgeous and god-like and wonderful. Your heart flutters in his presence."_ \- from [this article](http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2012/06/11/simon-pegg-fantastic-fear-of-everything-mission-impossible-tom-cruise_n_1585590.html)
> 

> 
> **Simon/Chris Pine Bromance-y Quotes & Stuff:**
> 
>   * [Chris Pine is one of Simon's celeb crushes.](http://www.glamourmagazine.co.uk/celebrity/entertainment/monitor/2012/05/simon-pegg-twitter-takeover) (This was one question in a Twitter Q&A.) 
>   * "Beautiful, tall, statuesque, threatening Chris Pine." - The full-length video has been removed from Youtube, so I can't find that exact quote anymore, but here's the snippet from the same video where Simon is ranting about _Star Wars_ and film in general: [Simon Pegg on Films, 'Star Wars' and Nerds](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivunlImUra8)
>   * [Simon gets goosed by Chris Pine at the Leicester Square Trek '09 Premiere](http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=KlT_UCFlfhU#t=76s)
>   * ["Marry, Shag, Throw Off a Cliff"](http://youtu.be/3C9nSAidUiY)
> 

> 
> And of course, [Simon and Nick's texts and pet names.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VecjLRJM_NU)
> 
> That's all for now. Thanks for reading.


End file.
